


Atonement

by smaragaide



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragaide/pseuds/smaragaide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Season 5 after Sansa and Theon leapt from Winterfell and the notion of Petyr returning to North after Cersei promises him Warden of the North if he defeats the Boltons and/or Stannis.</p><p>Just a short, maybe two or three chapter ficlet. </p><p>It popped into my head after seeing the new Season 6 photos of Sansa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter Reunion

* * *

 

 

 

 

She was shivering, always shivering. Nothing she did could stave off the cold. The snow continued to fall as Sansa and Theon moved quickly, never staying in one place for long. Weeks had passed since that fateful leap from the turrets of Winterfell and they both knew Ramsay was ever searching. Some locals took them in at their own risk, but mostly for only a few hours at a time. Sansa couldn’t have it on her conscious that any man, woman or child would suffer from Ramsay’s hands because they helped her. As they moved from place to place, Sansa and Theon really only had enough time to find food and take some shelter.

As far as Sansa could see, Ramsay’s men must have defeated Stannis Baratheon for the few times she could see Winterfell, no siege had taken place. Petyr had been wrong. Stannis and his army did not defeat the Boltons and she would have been forever tortured. Sansa wasn’t even sure if Petyr was coming back. He said he would return, but Littlefinger said so many things. How could he have left her here at their mercy? Did he know what he had left her to?

Littlefinger was a master manipulator and seemed to know everything about everyone to his advantage. How could he not know about Bolton’s son Ramsay? Roose Bolton and his wife knew their son beat, tortured and raped Sansa repeatedly. They didn’t care. All Sansa was good for was the means to an heir. A Stark child that they could finally use to keep the North. Sansa knew the moment she gave birth to a son, she would be dead. She did not want to bear that monster any child of her womb.

Theon rarely spoke the entire time and Sansa couldn’t stop imagining what Ramsay had done to him. Theon was courageous, out-spoken and had always been a beloved friend to her family. It wasn’t until his horrendous betrayal, that Sansa had no pity left for him. She thought her younger brothers were dead, but now Sansa did not know where they were. After all this time, they could be hiding in the wilderness as she did now or they had met their fate. They were both so young when Sansa left Winterfell. How they could have survived on their own when everyone believed they were dead…. Sansa just didn’t know. She had to keep hope alive. That hope kept her alive right now. If she were alone with Theon and nothing else in the world, she might as well let Myranda kill her that day. She was not about to let Ramsay torture her one day more.

Sansa and Theon had moved towards the river keeping downstream. Hopefully, Ramsay would think they tried to make for other smaller houses for protection or south towards Moat Cailin. They had no money or means to travel or for food, let alone a boat. Perhaps if they could make it closer to the Manderlay’s and White Harbor, the last Stark could find a shred of loyalty left in the North. Ramsay would not risk leaving Winterfell in such a time. Once the rumor spread of her death or disappearance, the Boltons would have a difficult time with the locals.

During the day, could they afford to make a small campfire to eat and get warm. It was too noticeable at night and would direct anyone looking for them. At night, they dug into the snow and earth like animals, covering themselves with branches and anything to fight off the cold. They huddled together for warmth and it wasn’t long before Sansa smelled as terrible as Theon.

They were starving, cold and moving slower as each day passed. Sansa felt it was only a matter of time before they died or Ramsay caught them. She prayed to the old gods that she would rather die by nature’s hands than the cruel ones of her terrible husband.

Another storm was making its way, as they travelled into the night. It was easier to cloak themselves in darkness. Sansa was hindered with her long dress and cloak, but she was warmer than poor Theon. Some of his fingers were spotted black and even Sansa could barely feel her feet some days.

Theon sat against a tree and could move no longer and Sansa didn’t know if she could go on by herself. There had to be some settlements out here. Why was it taking so long to find a single cottage? Could she even take their loyal hospitality knowing if Ramsay found out, he would flay them alive? It was all so hopeless. Digging on the fuller side of the pine tree to make a den for the night, Sansa stopped abruptly at the flicker of a few lights in the distance. She couldn’t tell if they were locals or Ramsay’s men.

“Theon, I see lights over there,” she whispered to be safe.

“Lights?” he asked wearily in disbelief.

“Yes, it’s not too far. Perhaps, we can make it,” she shivered.

“I can’t move, leave me here and go. I’m slowing you down,” he groaned.

“I won’t leave you here, you’ll die,” Sansa said harshly.

“If it’s Ramsay, he’ll flay me alive… slowly. I would rather die here,” Theon mumbled.

“If it’s him, we’re both dead anyway,” she groaned and stared at the lights in the darkness. “I’m going closer. If I see one banner, I’ll come back and we’ll find another way. I’ll come back regardless.”

She pulled some heavy branches and covered him as best she could. She wanted to keep that promise but didn’t know what she was getting into. She could be walking into a trap and it would be done. She kept a sharpened stick in her hand. If it came to that, she would plunge it into her throat before letting Ramsay torture her.

Picking up her skirts between her legs, Sansa moved through the deeper and powdery snow towards the lights. It wasn’t a farm but an encampment. There were multiple tents, horses and soldiers moving about and Sansa’s heart sank. She was about to turn around when she spotted a banner near a torch. It was blue. It was definitely blue. She moved a little closer hiding behind some bushes covered in snow watching the men. Blue and white with a bird. They were Vale soldiers and her heart raced anxiously.

It was Petyr. It had to be. He wouldn’t send the Vale army without him. Petyr had to be in control and if Vale soldiers were heading towards Winterfell, that must mean he was indeed returning. Did he know about Stannis’ defeat or did it matter? Was Petyr aware of her disappearance? What if he was only using her to win an alliance with the Boltons? Would he take her back to them?

Some many questions littered her mind watching the camp. They were definitely on their way to Winterfell, there was no doubt about it. She weighed her options carefully. Theon was going to die and soon she would too if they stayed out here much longer. There was no guarantee that if they found a small settlement, the people would risk their lives taking them in. Petyr had never harmed her. Not once. He killed Lysa for her. He got her out of Kings Landing.

Sansa didn’t know what game Petyr was playing. He needed her it seemed. He could have disposed of her at any time. In fact, she saved him at the Eyrie. There must be something more. Somehow, Sansa knew Petyr didn’t really need the Boltons. He was betting that Stannis would defeat them and make her Wardeness of the North. Petyr wanted her to have the power back in Winterfell, not the Boltons. They could not be trusted, but Sansa would be an important ally. The North, the Vale and he had control over the Riverlands… Petyr was taking control of the three largest regions in Westeros.

She remembered what he said in the crypts. He did not want Cersei to figure anything out. He was playing both sides but undermining the Lannisters. If he were in league with them, he never would have killed Joffrey and smuggled her out. No, he needs the North and knew the Boltons needed her to keep control of it. With the Boltons gone, Petyr would also need her to hold the North.

As her decision was made, several horses rode in with the sigil of House Bolton near the largest tent. Yes, it had to be Petyr coming back. She needed to gamble once again and find a way to see him without Ramsay knowing. If Petyr was going to betray her, this would be the perfect opportunity. She would kill herself and let it all be done and over with. Sansa was tired of freezing and starving. She had to try and hope luck was on her side. For that’s all she had if anything.

Keeping low, Sansa waited for Ramsay and his men to enter the large tent and then she crept around the back. If she could find the right Vale soldier, one that maybe recognized her… it was all chance. A few soldiers were huddled near their fire as she came towards them quietly.

“Who goes there!” one spoke up when he saw the cloaked woman coming from the forest.

“Ssh, I need to speak with your Captain. I must see Lord Baelish. I have vital information for him. He’s walking into a trap,” Sansa whispered in earnest.

“Who are you?” another said drawing his sword.

“Please, Lord Bolton must not know I’m here. I am Lady Stark. Sansa Stark. Lord Baelish needs to know that the Boltons are false. They cannot be trusted. I have information for him but they cannot know I’m here or they’ll kill me. Lord Baelish would not want that. Please take me to your captain,” she begged.

“The girl Lord Protector travelled with had dark hair, not red,” one said.

“Please, your captain will know me. You can kill me if I’m lying, please. I’m trying to help,” Sansa pleaded. She forgot that most of them only saw her with dark hair.

“What’s all the commotion over here,” a tall man growled and Sansa sighed. She knew him, it was going to be all right.

Sansa explained everything, demanding to see Petyr under secrecy.

“He’s with Lord Bolton right now. How do I tell him anything without saying your name that they won’t overhear? If Lord Baelish leaves right now, they’ll suspect something. He’s already been asking for you,” the captain asked.

“Is there another tent I can hide in? Tell Lord Baelish that…” Sansa paused in thought, “Tell him, _Alayne_ is here. He will know what that means.”

“Alayne? All right,” he agreed. “Come, let’s get you to his private tent. It’s very close to where they’re meeting, so you must be quiet. Stay hidden until I or his lordship comes for you.”

Sansa followed the captain further into the camp and away from Bolton’s men standing guard. The Vale captain ushered her under the canvas and told her to hide just in case. A long time she sat and waited. Sansa could hear men arguing close by and wondered what was being said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“My father sent me to meet with you, Lord Baelish,” Ramsay smirked taking a seat. “We were quite unnerved that our scouts said a very large army bearing blue and white were marching on Winterfell. You see, not a raven or a word from you makes my father wonder why you are here.”

Petyr smiled and sipped his hot mulled wine in contemplation.

“Well, it appears my messages did not come to you in this wretched weather. I received news that Stannis was making for Winterfell with a rather large force and out of good faith of our alliance, I brought an army to assist you. Neither of us benefits with Stannis Baratheon taking the North.”

“I take it you didn’t hear that I defeated him easily,” Ramsay laughed, “So you see, we don’t need your assistance.”

“So it seems,” Petyr replied smoothly. “Considering that we have come all this way to protect our mutual interests, I hope your father will offer us a short lived hospitality before returning to the Vale? We are… after all, allies are we not?”

Ramsay sneered, “Of course, my lord.”

Petyr studied the man and something had changed significantly. This was not the quiet, gracious boy he encountered the first time. This was a different man entirely. Petyr had an overwhelming feeling something was wrong. It wasn’t so much that Stannis had been defeated. It didn’t matter, for Petyr fully intended to kill the Boltons anyhow, regardless of whether Cersei or the king granted him wardenship when he took Winterfell. It was this boy’s demeanor. A vicious duplicity hid behind his dark eyes that were more suspicious than Joffrey’s open cruelty.

“How is my niece? Does marriage agree with you?” Petyr inquired leaning back into his chair.

The boy smiled maliciously and a knot tightened in Petyr’s stomach.

“Let’s say, I enjoyed breaking her in,” Ramsay smirked. “I would have thought a brothel keeper would have taught her a thing or two on how to please a husband. I was mildly disappointed. Just like a good dog, she only needed to be trained by her master.”

Petyr kept his gaze cool and unwavering. He wanted nothing more than to kill this disgusting boy but doing so now would alert his father. No, he must wait. Taking Winterfell from an unsuspecting Roose Bolton and finding Sansa alive was more important. Once he had control, Petyr would take sweet revenge on the bastard he failed to know.

Ramsay was baiting him for a reaction and Petyr would not give it to him.

“If you must train your wife like a dog, my boy, I feel you are doing it wrong,” Petyr said nonchalantly and his men laughed heartily. “My whores are exceptionally talented without having to be whipped. A little trust and gold will make them suck your cock dry. Perhaps it is a sign that you’re lacking in the bedchamber if you must beat her to please you.”

The Vale captain entered the tent signaling to Petyr to speak with him. The man whispered in his ear and once the name Alayne was uttered, Petyr knew just what he left Sansa to deal with.

“I see. Have the maester tend him and keep watch,” Petyr said with a knowing look to his captain. “I will see to him later.”

The captain left abruptly understanding the Lord Protector’s instruction and Petyr sat languidly sipping his wine.

“My commander won’t make it through the night, it seems,” Petyr offered nonchalantly knowing the young Bolton would cling to the information. A foppish, brothel keeper made high lord wasn’t threatening to Roose Bolton and Petyr knew it. Giving his bastard false information that the only military man leading the Vale army was ill and dying left them believing him vulnerable. For what could a man such as Littlefinger know about strategy and leading a conquering force?

“It’s rather good we’re so close to Winterfell, perhaps your father will lend me one of your trusted captains when we return to the Vale. In return, I’ll have plentiful supplies sent since our stores are overflowing from such a bountiful harvest,” Petyr smiled congenially, reading his opponents easily.

Ramsay smirked at his ill-conceived advantage over the presumed in-experienced and older lord.

“I’m sure father will assist you. We are allies after all,” the boy grinned. “I had heard Vale soldiers were adept at fighting in the cold. Doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“Ah, well, anyone not of the true North has never seen a winter. These men have only known summer in Westeros. I gather that’s why Stannis was so easily defeated. Frankly, he never had the money to wage such a war to begin with. It was doomed from the very beginning. One simply cannot trust sellswords from the South to do the job,” Petyr laughed but watched Ramsay with a keen eye. “Stannis clearly underestimated you and your father as the true wardens of the North and Lord of Winterfell.”

“You said so yourself,” Ramsay stood tall. “I was a rare thing, someone you never heard of. Everyone has underestimated the Bolton name. Now, we have slaughtered Westeros’ best military commander in a day. The Lannisters will never send at army this far North. We don’t need Tywin or that boy king. The North is ours.”

“Tell me, Ramsay,” Petyr asked examining his silver goblet. “Who beat Stannis? Planned the attack? You or your father?”

“I did,” the boy said indignantly. “It was my doing. My victory.”

Petyr looked around at the men surrounding them.

“I would like to speak with you privately,” Petyr said expecting Ramsay to take the bait. “I am wary of too many ears. The Spider was known to have his little birds even in the most remote of places not that I fear word will leak to him but I’ve never been a trusting man.”

Ramsay sent his men out as did Petyr, yet he had not moved from his chair.

“When I met you months ago, I’ll admit, I knew nothing about you and plenty about your father,” Petyr began smoothly. “Returning now, I feel I may have made a mistake in judgment.”

“I don’t understand your meaning, Lord Baelish,” Ramsay eyed him suspiciously.

“I don’t believe your father is in control of the North, my boy,” Petyr smiled putting the juicy, fat worm on the hook. “I believe you are the man that is and should be in control.”

“It will all come to me in time,” Ramsay said carefully.

“Really?” Petyr asked with a smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m of low birth and had to climb my way up and you’re a bastard legitimized but by a king that may not be on the throne for long. Who will be the next king and what will he do? The only way to get what we want is not by some piece of parchment but by force. Sheer will and strength is what makes men leaders. I think it is you that keeps the North in line, not your father.”

“What are you saying exactly?” Ramsay inquired and Petyr could see the wheels turning in the boy’s head.

“I gave you the Stark name to bear your heir and hold the North. You and your son will control the North, so what use is your father? It is you that keeps the people in line. I need that kind of strength in an ally. This world is not for the weak, much less a long winter.”

Petyr could see he had hooked the boy’s full attention.

“I control the Vale and the Riverlands. Harvests and gold that will get the North through this winter,” Petyr played skillfully. “The Lannisters are all but finished. Kings Landing is in the midst of a zealot revolution that will not last. When it all settles down, they will be desperate and ripe for the picking. We will have all the prosperous land untouched by war, food, people to take control of the country. Or just let the South fall to pieces and create a new country starting with the Riverlands. To do that, a strong man must lead and control. I believe that man is you.”

Petyr let the information set in and watched the boy curiously as he sat down weighing it all.

“And what do you get from all of this? The iron throne?” Ramsay jeered as he swam a little with that shiny hook in his mouth, debating whether to run or pull on that tasty bait.

“Ah, I am a simple man,” Petyr laughed. “I have no desire for that hunk of metal, not to mention that all whom sit upon it, end up dead. I like gold, women and comfort. I already have more gold than I know what to do with. An investment into the right person can make both of us untouchable. We are men of low birth climbing successfully to the top. I’ve always wanted to see their faces when old houses lose everything to the new age of power. Where the terms whoremonger and bastard are meaningless. My political and financial savvy with your brawn is a perfect marriage.”

Ramsay pulled his dagger playing with it and Petyr almost laughed at the power struggle. Ramsay wanted to make him nervous or give something away.

“And if I agree… what is the price for this new alliance?” the boy wagered.

“Kill your father and my army is yours,” Petyr said will all seriousness in this dangerous game. “I will fund you with gold, shelter, food and land. I need a commander not afraid to be ruthless. I am not a military man, only one of business and politics. You need to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Get my niece with child, if you haven’t already. If you control the North and I the Riverlands and Vale, two-thirds of the country is ours. Margery Tyrell is imprisoned with her brother leaving a feeble old woman in charge of The Reach. Cersei Lannister and her son will be dead soon and her brother and uncle have no stomach for war. They can’t even control Casterly Rock. Dorne is of no threat to anyone and Lord Tyrell couldn’t lead a swarm of flies.”

“What guarantees do I have that you won’t sell me out to my father once you reach Winterfell? Or that you attack us with our guard down? I can kill my father at any time and take Winterfell as my own. Why do I need you?” the son asked cautiously and Petyr smiled.

“We both know your father has served his purpose. He is not the iron man I need. Someone that will instill fear of ever revolting. Fear keeps the masses in line. Fear and control. As I said, I’m not a military commander, but I do know I have three times the men and horses that will break what’s left of yours. Winterfell and the North is useless as an ally when there isn’t someone to control it. We both know I will never control it and neither will a little Stark girl. The only thing she is good for is breeding,” Petyr hammered home. He knew what kind of man he was dealing with now after all the reports of the Bolton bastards cruelty reached White Harbor where his fleet awaited. “You cannot survive the winter without my money and supplies. We need each other. I will stay in the Vale and not encroach on your rule of the North. Only when I need force, will I call on you. Other than that, my capitalism will keep up both prosperous for generations.”

Petyr was banking on the Bolton’s underestimating him until he killed them all. Traveling by ship, kept the horses and men fresh from marching in snow all the way from the Eyrie. His army was larger, stronger and well equipped to fight in the winter. If the Bolton’s lowered their guard by any means, it would make taking Winterfell all the easier. Swaying the bastard boy would be perfect and kill two turncoats with one strategically thrusted sword.

“When do you need an answer?” the boy asked, staring him down.

“Now,” Petyr replied strongly. “I come to Winterfell tomorrow with you by my side. Right now, you decide whether it’s to convince your father to lower his guard and kill him or I’ll kill you tonight and leave the North to die in the winter with nothing. All the money and supplies I promised your father, will go with me.”

“You expect me to trust you?” Ramsay sneered.

“We don’t trust each other but we will mutually benefit regardless. You could kill me right now, yet my army will still return to the Vale. You don’t have the money to pay them and they have no loyalty to you,” Petyr insisted. “I’m not trusting you, I’m making an investment. The lords of the Vale and Riverlands will fear you and I will make us wealthier and more powerful than you could imagine. I’m betting you have more vision than your father. In fact, he could still have another son and what would you gain then?”

It was quiet for some time between the men but Petyr felt his argument was sound and knew he had the boy.

“We have a bargain,” Ramsay finally answered.

“Good,” Petyr nodded. “I will need you and your men to relinquish your weapons while in my camp tonight. I promise no harm will come to you. It doesn’t serve me to kill you after all of this time wasted to convince you to this alliance, but I do need assurance that you won’t go back to your father in the middle of the night to warn him. Your horses will be well cared for and we leave for Winterfell in the morning. Tomorrow, Lord Bolton and Warden of the North, we will have a new Westeros.”

Petyr walked him to a tent further away in the center of camp as Ramsay’s men were divested of all their armory. He gave them every comfort, wine and food brought from White Harbor. Petyr instructed his commander and captains to keep a trained eye on them at all times. Nothing would be taken for granted. Ramsay, Petyr knew now was a ruthless and vicious killer. Not once could any of Petyr’s men underestimate this tonight. If any one of them tried anything at all, Petyr ordered to have them all killed immediately.

During the entire exchange with Bolton, not once did the auburn haired woman leave his mind. Sansa had used Alayne knowing Petyr would understand completely. If she was here, she was either in danger or warning him. Petyr did not want to press the issue of Sansa with Ramsay in fear of raising too much suspicion. Either he did not know she had left Winterfell or something worse had happened that had Sansa on the run. Ramsay certainly wouldn’t want to mention the disappearance of Sansa to the man that was her uncle and master of the marriage arrangement.

What worried Petyr more wasn’t that Ramsay attempted to call his bluff and reveal any feelings towards Sansa in his sexual remarks but what Sansa might have received at the hands of this sick man. The image of Ramsay abusing his little bird in the most degrading way possible made Petyr’s blood boil. Once Roose was dead and the Vale destroyed every last Bolton bannerman, Petyr would use their bloodied sigil against their bastard lord.

Coming to his tent, Petyr waited for a moment. No one knew about Alayne outside of the Vale. It had to be her. The evening was bitter cold and Petyr desperately wanted to settle in the warmth of his tent and hopefully see his sweetling again after so many months apart. His heart was heavy after meeting with Ramsay but it Sansa made it this far, at least she would be under his protection again.

Petyr walked in and saw the cloaked figure standing in the corner eating fruit and cheeses like a ravenous beast. It looked like her dark blue cloak but it was so filthy making it hard to tell. If it was Sansa, Petyr wondered what pig sty she had crawled through to get here and his stomach dropped.

“Alayne?” he asked, using her alias.

The girl turned around and what was standing in his tent wasn’t Sansa. This girl was a skeleton wearing her clothes. She was covered in filth, her red hair dull and dirty and the ghostly pallor of her skin only made the black circles, sunken cheeks more horrifying. Those blue eyes stared at him and for the first time in his life, Petyr did not know what to say.

“Expecting a blushing bride?” her soft voice spoke and the venom was unmistakable.

“Sansa…”

“I need to know one thing,” she interrupted quickly staring at the ground. “Are you going to take me back to him?”

“No,” Petyr answered immediately and it wasn’t a lie. He had never intended to leave her there. Petyr was so certain Stannis would have easily beaten the Boltons. Whatever happened on the road from the wall, was enough to decimate his forces.

“How can I believe you?” she muttered studying him.

Petyr moved slowly towards her and a pang of hurt coursed through him when she backed away.

“I could never hurt you,” he said truthfully.

“ _You could never hurt me_ ,” Sansa laughed bitterly repeating his words. “You married me to that monster but _you_ hurt me more than he ever did.”

Listening to the Ramsay boy gloat earlier and looking at Sansa now, gutted him. What, in the name of the gods, did he leave her to? How could he have not known more about Roose’s bastard? Petyr hadn’t lied. He never wanted Sansa to be hurt. He would have bet heavily that Roose would not have harmed her knowing he needed Sansa to keep the North. Apparently, the father had no control over the son. The stories Petyr heard travelling from White Harbor about the new lords of Winterfell made him sick with worry about his sweet, little bird. Stannis would not have harmed her and Petyr knew that he was smart enough to keep her as wardeness at the very least.

Sansa appeared and ate as though she hadn’t had a proper meal in a long time. She was so gaunt, that the dress hung on her frail body despite the rips, tears and encrusted mud.

“I didn’t know about Ramsay, Sansa,” he began. “If I had, I would not have left you here.”

Petyr wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not. Would he have broken the contract with Roose and take her back to the Eyrie? He had not planned on travelling all the way back to Kings Landing until Cersei’s command. He could have sent a raven that he knew of the intended marriage but arriving in the capital, Petyr knew he needed to see it all for himself. The city was in turmoil, the Tyrells in prison and Cersei out of her wits. He would have had to return to double down and sort things out.

He sat down wearily and stared at this poor thing he left to fend for herself with tired eyes.

“You, not knowing everything there is to know? I find that hard to believe,” Sansa accused. “Roose should have been your first clue. You really think he would have treated me much differently than his bastard son?”

“Roose needed you unharmed to keep your people in line. Hurting you would have worked against him. It wasn’t until taking the road from White Harbor, did I hear the horror stories of the son.”

“Why would you? You were too anxious to marry me off and abandon me,” she spat grabbing a decanter of hot wine and pouring herself a cup. “What did you get in return? How much did you sell me for?”

“Sansa,” Petyr sighed, “You had to come back here. All my information said Stannis had massed a large army and landed at the wall. He needed to take Winterfell. With you there, it would have been all yours. I had to take a risk…”

“Me, you mean,” she shot back. “You risked _me_. You didn’t risk anything at all. I had to marry him. I had to endure it all. The beatings, the threats, the torture… the horror…”

Tears welled up and streamed down her pale face and she threw the cup across the tent with force. Petyr couldn’t even meet her gaze. He rarely wagered and lost. This time, she was right. He risked nothing. He bet Sansa on a hunch and lost. The game was still going and he knew he would take Winterfell but whatever shaky trust he had with Sansa was now gone. He needed her more than she knew. It was the game, yes, but it also had become more than that.

“Do you have any idea of what he did to me?” she whispered staring at nothing. Sansa’s sharp wit and the fire that he loved so much was erased in the girl that stood before him. “Every time he hurt me… _touched_ me. I cursed you, not him.”

“Sweetling, I am so sorry. It is my fault. I will make it right,” he apologized sincerely but felt no matter what he said, it would never be enough.

“There is nothing that will make this right,” she muttered in tears. “You gave me to them. You left me here… and you’re _sorry_?”

Sansa marched up to him and slapped Petyr hard across the face, swinging his head back. She hit him again and Petyr did not try to stop her. He deserved her fury. Sansa backed away and paced the tent frantically as if trying to control that anger that desired nothing more than to be unleashed on him.

“You’re _sorry_ ,” she laughed, “You don’t even care, do you? You think everything will be all right by just saying _you’re sorry_.”

Petyr stood and came before her, stopping Sansa in her tracks.

“I do care or I wouldn’t be here,” he pressed and took her bony shoulders in his hands.

“You are here for yourself, not me,” she shrugged him off. “What lie will you tell me next? Let me see… perhaps you heard about my treatment here and came rushing to save me, is that it? With a full army no less? Were you planning on fighting Stannis or joining him?”

Petyr was silent. What could he say right now? She wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know about how bad it was in the North until he reached White Harbor.

“Oh wait, it must have been that you had heard about the wedding? How beautiful it was?” Sansa sneered viciously. “You should have seen me, Petyr, in that handsome dress you had made for me. Would you have thought me lovely and pure then? Theon Greyjoy gave me away, because you weren’t there. A _Greyjoy_. That filthy betrayer and murderer of my brothers.”

Sansa didn’t feel the need to tell Petyr that Theon had not killed her brothers after all but he did murder two innocent boys and still betrayed Robb and her family. He helped save her life and that’s all Sansa really could say for him now.

“Don’t you want to hear about my wedding night?” she asked sweetly and Petyr turned his head away.

No, he did not want to hear it, he thought cowardly. His mind already swam with horrid thoughts on what Ramsay did to her.

“What’s the matter, Petyr? Am I not beautiful anymore? Don’t you wish to kiss me like this? Don’t you desire me?” she seethed with anger as she threw off her cloak and started to unhook the winged sliver clasps on her tattered dress.

“Stop,” he muttered and averted his eyes.

“Stop. No. You’re hurting me. Don’t hit me anymore,” she raged and Petyr saw the dress fall to the floor at his feet. “I begged, I pleaded and it only made it worse. The more I cried the more he beat me. _And he enjoyed it._ If I let him degrade me, turned to stone and let him have his way, he still beat me. Look at me. Look at me, damn you!”

Reluctantly, Petyr raised his head and took her in from head to toe. Her once perfect, honey and cream skin was now marred with bruises, cuts and scars. Wearing only her torn chemise, Petyr could see a bite mark that drew blood and he winced. He was going to tear that little bastard limb from limb for doing this to her. And that terrible thought entered his mind that he had been trying to deny. Ramsay didn’t just do this to her. Petyr was just as guilty and he closed his eyes to what he allowed to happen. He had made a horrific mistake and Sansa paid the price.

“Don’t you dare turn away from me,” Sansa scowled, grabbing his chin forcibly to make him look at her. “I want you to know what you’ve done. It wasn’t just having to bed a stranger, the son of a man I detest. I had an audience when he raped me that night. That monster bent me over like an animal as his man watched him tear me open… over and over and over again until I my blood ran down my legs.”

Sansa was crying as she beat her fists on his chest.

“Every day, he raped and beat me. _Every day_. I was locked in that room and whenever I heard the door open, I wanted to die. I tried to starve myself. I prayed that you would come back and take me away,” she sobbed harder. “He flayed… an old woman that was trying to help me. He mutilated her. He threatened to do the same to me. I prayed Stannis would come and kill them all… but when I saw they his army defeated, I knew I was going to die. I knew that if Ramsay put a child in me, I would be dead the moment I gave birth. I couldn’t take it anymore. I would rather be dead than let him hurt me again… and you may never have returned. So I ran away…”

Petyr grabbed her wrists and pulled her into his embrace. She struggled hard only making him wrap his arms tighter around her thin frame.

“I hate you,” she bawled into his chest. “You sold me to them like some whore. I’ll never forgive you. Never.”

“Oh sweetling,” Petyr murmured in her ear. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I will make it right. I will kill them all. I will give you your home back. Give you whatever you want. I will do anything you wish of me. _Anything_.”

“How could I ever trust you again?” she sniffed trying to push away from him but Petyr held on tighter.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, but what other choice do you have? Freezing and starving to death in the snow? He’s looking for you, that’s the only reason I believe he came this far from Winterfell. He didn’t know I was coming,” Petyr said but Sansa refused to look at him.

Petyr tilted her chin up. “Look at me. I know you don’t believe me, but I did come back for you,” he told her sincerely. “That’s not the only reason. You are right. I came to defeat either Stannis or the Boltons with this army. I told you the truth that day, sweetling. The north will be yours and yours alone. You will be beholden to no one. Anything you want, and it’s yours. Name it.”

“Swear it, not on the gods, but on your life, your blood. Swear it, to me,” Sansa demanded.

“I swear it,” Petyr declared and pulled his dagger, placing the blade in his left hand. With a quick movement, he sliced his palm, letting the blood drip down. “I swear on my blood.”

He gave her the dagger and pointed it directly over his heart.

“I swear on my life. I give you my life,” he vowed. “I give you everything I have.”

“I want you to kill him, Petyr,” she told him with no uncertainty. “I want his blood on your hands. Make him a martyr of his own sigil.”

Sansa took the dagger and sliced her hand before clasping his own, mingling their blood.

“We are bonded by blood,” she affirmed. “Stronger than any oath. You will never betray me again. We are now equals, you and I. Partners in this game. That is your atonement to me. You need me as much as I need you against… _the rest of them.”_

Petyr smiled inwardly, for Sansa had grown strong. She could have taken her life many times and didn’t even though no one would have thought the lesser of her for doing it. She chose to fight and live. Now she was here and could easily have convinced him to let her runaway and hide. Play the helpless woman and have him protect her and continue to let him take the lead. She was learning to play the game. She hooked him emotionally and it worked. No doubt, he had done Sansa wrong and if it had been anyone else, Petyr would not have cared and never lived up to any promise he made. He truly cared for this beautiful woman and would move heaven and earth to bring her back to him. He couldn’t lose her now. He could take Winterfell now without her due to Cersei’s gift to him, but it wasn’t worth it. Not without Sansa. He needed her like his lungs needed air. He would find a way to make her trust him again.

“Yes, sweetling. I swear I will never wrong you again,” he pledged sincerely. “We are equals, you and I. Tomorrow, we march on Winterfell with Ramsay believing I am still an ally here to protect them from Stannis. Roose will lower his guard, and I will kill them all… for you.”

Petyr tucked a stray, dirty strand of hair behind her ear and felt her shivering from the cold. She was skin and bone and he knew she was starving. Her fingers were ice cold and Petyr only imagined how bad her feet must be. He would order hot water, not only for her to bathe off the grime but soak the frost away.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “I want to go with you. I want to see it.”

“You will,” he smiled slyly. “I’ll dress you as a captain, and I’ll never leave your side again. First, you must eat and rest. Captains don’t faint in battle. I’ll bring you some hot water to wash. You need to soak your hands and feet and stave off the frost and cold.”

Petyr walked to a chest and pulled out some of his clothes, handing them to her. Her eyes reflected his own sadness. What had he done to this lovely creature? He would make amends if it killed him.

“To answer your question,” Petyr said quietly as he gazed lovingly at her, “you have and will always be the most beautiful and strongest woman I’ve ever known.”


	2. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Life always gets in the way. Damn you, life! Don't you know I should be writing fanfics all day, every day? :D
> 
> There will be one more chapter to this little ficlet and we'll call it done. I need to get back to writing House of Green & Black, but I just had to get this chapter out of me first.

* * *

 

 

 

Sansa was warm, finally warm as she snuggled into the furs. It was not nearly dawn but she couldn’t sleep even though her body and mind were exhausted. She hadn’t slept for more than a few hours at a time since she was wed to Ramsay and even less on the run in the wilderness. The cold and fear of capture would never allow it.

She had told Petyr about Theon just outside the camp and he promised to have the man, who helped save her, well cared for and out of sight of Ramsay’s men. By the time Petyr returned, she had scrubbed off as much of the grime as she could and put on his clean clothes.

Never had Sansa wore men’s clothing before and it felt strange to have her legs completely covered… an odd protection of sorts that gave her a bit of comfort. Petyr wasn’t a tall man or broad of shoulder but his clothes were still too big, but Sansa was much thinner now. For weeks, she had not seen what her body looked like bare. Some of the bruises were beginning to fade but the other marks and scars would be with her forever. A terrible reminder of what she had endured.

She was so pale and thin and could barely keep his breeches up. Petyr took the cord from her old cloak and fixed it around her waist before draping his warm doublet around her. During his absence, he had a hot meal prepared along with more mulled wine. Forgetting about any form of etiquette, she gobbled it down ignoring his gentle warning to slow down lest she retch it back up again.

Petyr sat her down on his cot blanketed with furs and poured liniment in his palms. Taking a seat in front of her, Petyr silently asked her permission. Picking up her bare foot, lightly bitten by frost, he gently massaged the tender skin. No words were spoken and Sansa didn’t try to stop him. His touch was more soothing than she would have ever admitted.

Sansa was still furious with Petyr and didn’t trust him at all, but there was something in his manner now that was different from before. Petyr had always been kind and tender but this was remorse emanating from him and it took her off guard. Petyr had never been remorseful since she known him. Here he sat quietly and attended to her as if asking for forgiveness.

Littlefinger was a liar and master manipulator, Sansa forced herself to remember. He could be playing her even now. For all she knew, he could be taking her back to Winterfell to hand her over to her dreadful husband. Sansa had to believe that Petyr was smarter than to bargain with the Boltons. When they reached Winterfell tomorrow, any hint of betrayal and she would kill him and herself after.

Petyr tucked her in and sat at a makeshift desk presumably to write more letters and hatch more plans. The candle was growing low as she watched him before her eyes finally closed.

“Good morning, my wife,” a monstrous voice echoed and Sansa saw Ramsay’s face.

She sat up gasping when a firm but soft hand held hers.

“It’s all right, I’m here,” Petyr’s voice said.

Glancing at their joined hands, Sansa noticed Petyr was sitting next to the cot on the ground wrapped in a fur. How long had he been there?

“Lay down, it’s all right. You’re safe,” he tried to convince her but Sansa felt like a caged animal, wary and untrusting of everything around her. “We’ll need to get up in a few hours, sweetling. Rest,” he told her softly.

Sansa removed her hand from his and heard him sigh. The look of shame and regret was painted on his face and Sansa hardened herself. No, she would not let herself feel anything for him. Petyr did this to her and she was going to make him suffer for it. If he truly cared, as he proclaimed, she would make him prove it. Sansa would not let herself be swayed by his sad eyes, tender gestures or lingering doubts that he could be telling the truth.

She laid back down and huddled inside the furs, watching his every move like a scared animal. Petyr didn’t move to touch her and rested his head against the cot. Wide blue eyes stared at his dark, shiny hair with those touches of grey at the sides. Petyr looked tired and worn and Sansa wondered what happened in Kings Landing but she did not want to ask him. What did Cersei know and what did he tell her? Sooner or later Queen Cersei would know Sansa was back home and then what?

Regardless of what the Boltons did to her, Petyr was now the only man between her and oblivion. Sansa had to trust him or at least keep an alliance. He didn’t need the Boltons any more than Stannis. She was his key to the North. Petyr had Harrenhal and the Riverlands, Robert under his control, and now all he needed was the North. Perhaps the Lannisters hold on the South was slipping and Margery could be the new ruler. Surely, Margery wouldn’t hold her accountable for Joffrey’s death.

If Petyr’s remorse was real, then she could use it to her advantage. Despite whatever else Petyr was, he was a shrewd politician and businessman. He was teaching her, yes, but Petyr had years of experience on his side in dealing with ruthless people. She did not have the money or power, even with the Stark name, to play as he did. If they could partner together, using each other, it could be mutually beneficial.  Sansa didn’t want the Iron Throne and frankly didn’t care who took it once the Lannister’s received their comeuppance. If Petyr wanted it, it was all his.

She never wanted to return to Kings Landing again. She wanted the Boltons and all of their bannermen out of her lands for good. Sansa thought if she could get through the winter, then everything would be all right. She would right the wrongs the Bolton’s inflicted on her small folk and live peacefully.

Sansa needed to sleep. Petyr was right, in a few short hours they would ride for Winterfell. If justice was on her side, she would see the Boltons defeated and Ramsay pay for his crimes. Sansa’s hand drifted down and touched his fur covered shoulder. Petyr didn’t look at her as his soft hands brought her fingers to his lips. His kiss was only a whisper against her skin as he cupped her hand in his, holding it just under his chin. It was a strange calmness that finally lulled her to sleep.

 

A loud clang woke Sansa as she rubbed the tiredness from her eyes. Petyr was no longer holding her hand. In fact he was not even in the tent. Shadows of men hustling around camp pictured on the canvas in the pale morning light. The army was getting ready to march and Sansa felt a nervous rumble in her belly.

“Petyr?” she whispered softly, afraid of who might hear her. Ramsay and his men could be anywhere.

Pulling off the furs, the cold cut through Petyr’s clothes. She would need boots and something warmer to wear. Sansa was rummaging through the chest that contained his belongings when a familiar chuckle sounded from behind.

“I have found something more suitable, even though I rather enjoy seeing you in my clothes,” Petyr smiled when she turned to face him.

He was holding a full uniform and helmet in sky blue and white. Sansa gazed at the heavy metal in horror. How would she ever get those on? She had never worn men’s clothing before, let alone what soldiers fought in.

Petyr’s teasing smile faded seeing the look on her face. He set the uniform on the cot and touched her hair lightly.

“We’ll need to pin this up and out of sight. The helmet should sufficiently cover it,” Petyr mused.

Sansa fingered the metal coverings presumably for her legs and arms.

“This will never work,” she sighed. “They’ll see right through me. How will I ever mount a horse wearing this?”

“I’ll help you,” he whispered kissing her forehead. “I told Ramsay my captain was very ill and might not make it through the night. Play feeble and sick. Never leave my side. If it becomes too dangerous, I have ordered my men to take you away and protect you with their lives. They will escort you to White Harbor under the protection of Lord Manderly, who is still loyal to your family.”

“No, I want to stay with you no matter what happens,” she protested. “I have to see him die, don’t you understand? I have to see it.”

Petyr sighed and caressed her hair. “I understand completely. Here, you’ll need help putting this on. Will you permit me?”

He held the officers uniform before her and Sansa nodded her head.

Adjusting the clothing, Petyr threw the tunic over her head and secured it around her tiny waist. The boots were a little big, but not too terrible as she slipped them on. Petyr pulled her hair up as she pinned it tightly before pushing her head through the heavy brigandine with metal plates. He laced the armor around her forearms and over the boots and Sansa felt the full weight of what soldiers wore every day.

Petyr stood and stared at her with a funny smile, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“It is a good thing that you are tall, or I fear it would be too obvious,” he jested lightly but it made Sansa all the more nervous.

“This is foolish… they’ll know,” she whispered.

Petyr tipped her chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Men rarely notice things that are right in front of their faces, don’t you agree?” he smirked trying to put her at ease. “Sansa, he’s been searching for you, I imagine. I’m betting he would never guess you’re hiding in plain sight.”

“Am I supposed to trust your betting once again?” Sansa retorted coldly.

“Point taken,” Petyr smiled caressing her cheek. “If it comes to that, I’ll kill him. We don’t need him to take Winterfell, sweetling. I’m only keeping him alive for now to save our losses. If we can take Winterfell without a full battle, the better. We’ll need as many men as we can before this winter gets any worse.”

Sansa took a deep breath, hindered by the armor.

“Alright,” she agreed. “The quicker this is over, the better.”

“That’s my smart girl,” he beamed. “Now, anything that is discussed with Ramsay, disregard it. He believes I’ve made a pact with him. Roose will keep his guard down and once we enter, I told Ramsay to kill him and that he will become the new Lord of Winterfell. This is a lie of course. My men will overtake his and it will all be done. Catch them by surprise, if you will.”

Petyr had Sansa practice walking and moving in the armor before putting on the helmet and lowering the face guard, hiding her feminine face. When then left the tent, only then did Sansa realize the size of the army that Petyr brought with him. The camp was truly massive. Right before Ramsay arrived with his own men, Petyr had already helped her mount her horse and began to play the game.

“Lord Bolton, good morning,” Petyr smirked, mounting his horse. “My men are ready if you are.”

“Lord Baelish,” Ramsay grinned. “A fine day to wage war.”

“A war need not be waged if you do your part,” Petyr corrected him. “Once we arrive at Winterfell, we’ll enter the gates and greet your father. Make it quick. I don’t want to draw this out longer than necessary. We’ll make a new alliance. Plus, I look forward to seeing my niece again.”

“Oh, I will make it quick,” Ramsay laughed. “I don’t wish to waste my time on him or his pregnant wife.”

Oh God, Sansa remembered. She almost forgot about Walda, Roose’s wife. She watched Petyr for a reaction, but he remained still and Sansa followed his lead. Perhaps, she could find a way to stop it. Sansa would cry no tears for Roose but Walda and her unborn did not deserve this.

“Do as you will,” Petyr waved him off. “I’m leaving about half my men here. I don’t wish to scare your father with a full army marching on Winterfell. Besides, we won’t need them since I feel everything will go to plan.”

Ramsay grinned as did his men but Sansa held her breath in horror. Petyr couldn’t possibly be serious. He should take the full army with him. He wasn’t a military commander and it was painfully clear to everyone around him. With all the men, she couldn’t say a word in opposition or advice without giving herself away.

Petyr rode on and Sansa followed him quickly. I was more difficult that she realized, riding with all this heavy and bulky armor on her small frame. Once out of ear shot, Sansa lowered her voice.

“My lord? We’re not really going to kill a woman with child are we?” she asked quietly.

“Sssh. Keep silent. I will do what I can,” Petyr hushed her.

Thankfully, most of the ride north was blissfully quiet with very little conversation between Ramsay and Petyr. She didn’t know what Ramsay was thinking at all as she glanced at him from time to time. Was he planning to turn on Petyr once inside the walls? There was nothing honorable about Ramsay and Sansa hoped Petyr knew what he was doing.

Sansa didn’t realize how close they were to Winterfell as they crested the hillside. It had been weeks since they ran away and now they were barely a day’s ride from where they were captive. For weeks, they had been essentially running around in circles. It was a miracle Ramsay had not captured them in all this time. They had believed they were heading south and when they couldn’t find the river again, fell into despair. Only when they came upon the White Knife, did they finally feel like they had made progress but by that time they were frozen and starving.

Ramsay had probably searched along the river at first, thinking that would have been their course of action. Perhaps, it was blind luck that she and Theon were lost instead. All in all, had it not been for Petyr’s camp, surely Ramsay would have found them either frozen to death or taken them prisoners once again.

In the distance, stood her home. Luckily, no one had spoken to her the entire time and guessed Petyr had already told his men not to address her at all.

“It feels as though I never left,” Petyr japed. “I have brought ample supplies from the Vale. We shall feast tonight in honor of your new lordship.”

Ramsay smiled wickedly and Sansa’s stomach turned.

“I shall ride ahead…” he began.

“No,” Petyr stopped him. “You will ride with me all the way, just as I said before. We enter the gates together. I rather value my neck, thank you. If my captains sense any trickery from your men, we will attack and kill everyone. Your father must have no warning. Even if you kill me, Ramsay, my men will do as I have commanded. They will never follow you. They will take Winterfell for Lord Arryn… and the gold I have promised them.”

Sansa glanced at Ramsay and could see the man seethe with anger. He hated Petyr ordering him around just as much as Roose did. It made her smile a bit but the worry was still there. Petyr was taking a huge risk riding behind Winterfell’s wall with Ramsay. He could easily be killed just for spite, knowing the Vale army would burn the castle down if need be. Ramsay was wild and unpredictable. It worried Sansa of what he might do to Petyr.

That thought confused her. She was angry at Petyr for not only marrying her to Ramsay but also leaving her there alone. At the same time, she was beginning to care for Petyr a little. He had saved her from Kings Landing and the Lannisters. Saved her from her crazy aunt. And now, he was helping her get her home back once and for all. It could be all for himself in the end, but the sadness she saw in his eyes last night was not a lie. There was contrition. Something Sansa had never sensed in him before.

As they neared the castle walls, a rider came bearing the Bolton’s sigil. It was strange, Sansa thought. There was quite a bit of bustling around Winterfell today. Many small folk were working and selling their wares. The snow had let up, and perhaps that was why so many towns people were out and about today.

“My lord! Your father sent me to greet you,” the man shouted.

“Did he? How thoughtful,” Ramsay sneered. “Go tell my _father_ that Lord Baelish has returned with reinforcements and supplies. He heard that Stannis Baratheon was marching from Castle Black and brought aid to his northern allies. We should feast to our victory.”

The man looked bewildered at the Vale army and glanced back to his young master.

“Go! I tell you!” Ramsay yelled. “We will follow shortly.”

The man turned his horse and rode quickly back to the main gate. Sansa saw the men on top of the turrets with their bows at the ready. Glancing at Petyr and Ramsay, they were watching just as diligently.

“Your orders, m’lord?” Petyr’s captain asked lowly.

“Hold here,” Petyr commanded.

After several tense minutes, the order was given from inside and the archers lowered their weapons from above.

“Shall we, _Lord_ Bolton?” Petyr smiled at Ramsay. “Bring me your father’s head and my forces will stand down.”

Ramsay eyed him suspiciously but then laughed heartily.

“To our newfound friendship, Lord Baelish,” Ramsay grinned and they both, with a handful of men, rode towards the gate.

Sansa was about to command her horse forward, when Petyr’s captain held her arm, pulling her back.

“No, m’lady,” he spoke softly. “Lord Baelish ordered you to stay with me.”

“He cannot go in there alone,” Sansa argued quietly, trying to yank her arm from his grasp. “You don’t know Ramsay Bolton. He can’t be trusted. I can’t stay here!”

“I’m sorry, m’lady. I have my orders,” the man repeated.

With wide and terrified eyes, Sansa watched the gate, the men at the turrets, the Vale army waiting for a sign to move in… it felt like time stood still. What was happening in there? Sansa prayed Petyr knew what he was doing. He didn’t know Ramsay like she did.

The archers didn’t move on top of the walls. As far as Sansa and the Vale knew, the Roose Bolton was either dead or unaware of the treachery about to happen. Sansa looked behind her and realized that if it all went to hell, there wasn’t enough to fight Ramsay’s men. The archers would bring them all down.

“Captain, this is folly. I’ve seen Lord Bolton’s forces take down Stannis Baratheon in one short battle,” she whispered. “You can’t possibly take Winterfell with so few men. You never should have left the rest of your army behind.”

The captain smiled at her.

“Lady Stark, who said we left anyone behind?” he chuckled. “Lord Protector may not be a trained military commander, but I’ll say he understands strategy better than most. Look around you. Do you recognize many of these people?”

Sansa glanced around the perimeter again. The traders, hunters and small folk around Winterfell today were indeed unfamiliar.

Suddenly, a yell from above and then more inside the walls alerted Sansa and the Vale captain. What looked like a revolt from the small folk had erupted and the archers were being killed off.

“At the ready men! Full attack!” the captain bellowed and he rode forward towards the gate as Ramsay’s men were falling over the wall. “Guard Lady Stark and keep her safe,” he ordered several men.

“I’m going with you!” she demanded.

“No! Lord Baelish commanded that you are to stay here for your own protection,” he shouted.

“I will not!” she called out as she clicked her heels and rode off towards him.

In the distance before reaching the gate, Sansa could see the remainder of Petyr’s army cresting the hill and flanking Winterfell. The men must have taken out Ramsay’s posts and reserves. Soon, Winterfell would be surrounded, she realized. Everyone underestimated Petyr, including her. He played the part of a brothel keeper and greedy, inexperienced lord to perfection.

The captain and two men shielded her as they passed the gate and saw the slaughter in the courtyard. Just as Ramsay picked of Stannis’ men with ease, the Vale had penetrated Winterfell completely with their guard down. As quickly as it began, it was over. Local smallfolk had joined in when they understood what was happening. The Bolton’s never had any loyalty from northerners. The Lannisters themselves could have invaded and they would have still helped bring the Bolton’s down. That’s how badly they were despised.

Sansa removed her helmet and looked around desperately for Petyr. His horse was nearby but he was nowhere to be found. Her heart pounded in fear for she couldn’t see Ramsay anywhere either. Sansa climbed down from her horse and wandered around the courtyard. The dead were everywhere and she even spied Roose’s body near the main entrance. He was run through with his throat slit.

“Petyr!” she screamed in vain. “Where are you?”

The fighting was dying down and many of Bolton’s men had surrendered quickly. Tearing away from the men protecting her, Sansa flew into the main entrance. She had to find him. Ramsay was still alive, she knew it and Petyr was no match for a ruthless man like him.

The dead littered the foyer as Vale soldiers stormed every floor and room. She didn’t know where to start looking, they could be anywhere from the crypts, to…

“Captain, send some of your men and scour the crypts below, there are plenty of places to hide there,” Sansa ordered.

“Yes, m’lady,” he answered. “You there! Check the crypts.” He called out to four men and directed them down the stairs.

Men were already racing up the stairs when a blade, bloodied and sharp, pressed against her throat.

“Well, if it isn’t my loyal and dutiful wife,” a terrible voice sneered with glee and Sansa’s heart stopped in fear. “So, this is where you have been, is it? Learning how to fight or learning how to fuck properly?”

“Both, you filthy bastard,” Sansa spat. If he was going to cut her throat, then so be it, for she wasn’t going to cower to him ever again. He wasn’t getting out of here alive and they both knew it.

“Let her go, Ramsay,” a pained voice echoed from across the room. “It’s over.”

Petyr was holding his left shoulder and his hand was covered in blood, wielding a beautiful dagger.

“Yes, it’s over, but not yet for me. You want your little whore?” Ramsay laughed. “Well, you’re going to have to pay for her, brothel keeper. I want out of here and safe passage or I cut her throat. If you're lucky, she'll still be warm when you fuck her. You should thank me for breaking her open for you. I must say, you play quite the convincing role, Baelish. I, for one, would have never suspected you had the balls for such a well-played game…. You almost won.”

This time it was Petyr’s turn to laugh loudly.

“Oh, my poor boy. I already have won,” Petyr chuckled. “You see, King Tommen has granted me Winterfell and named me Warden of the North for killing you and your traitor father. Queen Cersei didn’t take kindly to you marrying the last Stark heir.”

Sansa stood stunned, not at the knife at her throat but the man across from her.

“You – you told Cersei about me didn’t you?” Sansa screamed at him. “This was your whole plan from the beginning! That’s why you married me to him! You used me to take Winterfell.”

Petyr walked forward slowly, his eyes never leaving the man holding her.

“Oh Sansa,” Petyr smiled. “Now you catch on?” His shook his head clucking his tongue and returned his gaze back to Ramsay. “I need her alive, Ramsay, to send back to Cersei. Let her go, and you are free to leave. I’ll even give you a bag of gold to help you on your way.”

“I’m not as stupid as this girl,” Ramsay chided. “The moment I let her go, I’m dead.”

“Then slit her throat. I’ll just have to send Cersei her head and deal with the consequences later. It makes no difference to me. I’m tired of this game already,” Petyr retorted with a bored expression and Sansa felt like vomiting not seeing him turn the dagger in his hand, pinching the blade.

This wasn’t happening. She didn’t believe Petyr would give her back to Ramsay, and he wasn’t. He was using her to gain Winterfell instead. Petyr would control half of Westeros now, with only her standing in his way. She played right into his hands believing he was helping her get her home back.

“Do it,” Sansa whimpered, slumping against Ramsay. “Be done with it. I’m dead either way. I would rather die here than see Cersei’s face again.”

A loud noise could be heard from outside the walls and suddenly the ground shook with a thud and then another, and another. All the men stood in shock as the stone walls themselves rattled and masonry dust drifted about. Sansa could feel the blade pull away slightly from her neck.

“GIANT!” men roared from the courtyard and Sansa glanced at Petyr when the walls shook violently.

She saw his arm pull back and barely ducked when the blade of his dagger embedded itself into Ramsay’s face. The man released his hold and fell to the floor, his own blade clattering on the stone.

Petyr rushed across the room to her side as Sansa watched Ramsay bleed out onto the floor. That monster did not deserve a quick death. He deserved to be flayed alive as so many of his helpless victims. Petyr pulled her up as she struggled against him.

“Don’t touch me! You son of a bitch!” she screamed at him. “I’d rather die than let you take me back to Cersei! Do you hear me? You kill me now!”

“I’m not taking you anywhere, sweetling,” he shushed her. “What did I tell you this morning? Don’t believe anything I tell Ramsay. I needed him to let you go, even if for just a moment. I couldn’t let him harm you.” Petyr grabbed her face and kissed her forehead. “Why didn’t you stay outside the walls? I ordered them to keep you out of here for your own safety…”

“My lord! It’s wildlings let by a man of the Night’s Watch!” his captain advised. “There are too many of them. I called for the men to retreat inside the walls.”

“The Night’s Watch?” Sansa’s mind raced. No, it couldn’t be, could it?

Sansa broke out of Petyr's hold and ran out into the courtyard as Vale soldiers were streaming through the gate as fast as they could. Running up the stairs, she made her way to the top of the turrets and looked North. The captain was right. There were too many to fight and they did indeed have a giant. She had never seen a giant in her life and only read about them in faerie tales.

Leading this mass, was a man in black and what looked like a woman on his side. Could it be Jon? It was hard to tell from this distance.

“Sansa! What in the seven hells… you’re going to get yourself killed,” Petyr yelled running to her side.

Sansa looked up and saw the Bolton’s sigil still flying overhead.

“Cut that thing down and raise the Stark sigil!” she commanded. “Do it!”

“Do as she says,” Petyr ordered and after some time, the wolf finally returned to where it belonged.

Sansa and Petyr stood watching the hoard with baited breath. If it was Jon Snow, he would not attack his home once he knew a Stark had returned. Sansa’s heart raced and grabbed Petyr’s arm for stability. All at once, the man in black gave the order and the mass stopped in their tracks including the giant. It had to be him, Sansa thought.

“Come with me,” she demanded of Petyr and quickly flew down the stairs.

Back in the courtyard, she mounted her horse and Petyr followed suit, commanding his captain and a small garrison of men to follow.

The portcullis slowly raised and Sansa was the first to go as the men followed behind in awe of this auburn haired girl, not knowing what was going to happen next. It was all now, a matter of trust.

Sansa rode out and Petyr caught up with her.

“Sansa! Slow down, damnit and tell me what is going on!” he roared.

“It’s Jon Snow, my brother. I know it,” she replied evenly.

“The young commander of the Night’s Watch? That half-brother?” he asked.

“Yes. Jon would never attack Winterfell if it was still in Stark hands,” Sansa explained.

As the pair of them neared, the man in black, a woman and was it? It couldn’t be. The female knight that tried to help her at the inn when Sansa and Petyr were riding north? The one that vowed to her mother that she would protect Sansa? That blonde woman now rode towards them as the army of wildings stayed behind in wait. Before they reached each other, Sansa knew it was him. It was Jon and she leapt off her horse and ran to him.

“Sansa! You’re alive!” Jon yelled, running to her and all Petyr could do was watch in silence at the reunion with a heavy heart.

“It’s you! I knew it was you!” she cried in his arms with pure happiness to know at least one member of her family was alive and well.

“You’re alright? Let me look at you,” Jon smiled. “When I heard the Bolton’s had defeated Stannis and you were held captive here….”

“I’m alright, Jon. Really. The Bolton’s are dead,” she explained and turned towards Petyr and his commander. “This – this is Lord Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale and his army. They came to help me, to give me Winterfell and kill the Boltons.”

Petyr dismounted and clutched his shoulder in pain as he moved towards the _brother and sister_. Petyr extended his good arm in greeting.

“Lord Commander, you arrived in perfect timing,” Petyr nodded and remained neutral.

“Ah, I am no longer commander of the Night’s Watch,” Jon explained briefly.

“They released you from your vow?” Sansa asked in bewilderment.

“Not exactly,” Jon smirked. “That is a discussion we must have and soon. We were prepared to fight and I must say I’m relieved that now it is not necessary. We will need every man available to us.”

Sansa pulled away and stared at him in fear.

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

Jon embraced Sansa, swinging her around and Petyr couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy he felt. He was blood, but it didn’t matter. Here was a man that she truly trusted, one that could command an army and hold the North. Jon Snow may be a bastard, but not the bastard everyone thought he was. Sansa barely touched on the subject in the crypts to his amazement. She was so close to the truth. If Petyr was right, Jon Snow, wasn’t a Snow at all. He was still Sansa’s cousin, but far more important. If he was released from his vows of the Night’s Watch, it made him free to pursue any road. That would either make him a great ally or ruin all of Petyr’s plans in one moment.

“We’ll discuss it tonight. We have marched a long way. I have many to shelter and feed,” he said pointing to the mass of people behind him.

Sansa and Petyr could now see, that it wasn’t just an army. What followed Jon Snow from The Wall included women and children as well.

The blonde knight suddenly rode forward along with an older man and a rather beautiful woman with flowing, long hair as red as a pomegranate.

“Lord Commander, I must warn you… do not trust this man,” Brienne pointed towards Petyr. “He is the one that brought Lady Sansa here to be married to the Bolton’s.”

Petyr closed his eyes. He hated this woman.

“I brought Lady Sansa here to give her back her home and keep her safe from the Lannisters. It’s what her mother would have wanted,” Petyr said in half-truths. He glanced at Sansa waiting for her to call him out, but to his surprise, she kept quiet as if she was curious about his explanation of everything he had done.

“Lady Stark would never have approved her daughter to be married off to that monster,” Brienne retorted hotly.

“Lady Brienne, Sansa's mother and father were going to wed her to Joffrey and the Lannister family, if you recall. Oh, that’s right, you were in the service of Renly Baratheon at the time and not in Kings Landing and cared nothing for Sansa, if you even knew who she was. Joffrey was a vicious boy that would have tortured her as his wife. The Lannister’s beat and humiliated her for years. How could her parents have not known what they were subjecting their daughter to? Now, I say this as someone who knew and loved Catelyn Tully since I was a boy. I killed Joffrey, the bastard child of Cersei and Jamie Lannister and murderer of Ned Stark. The Lannisters had Robb and Cat murdered with the help of the turncoat Roose Bolton. I killed Lysa Arryn when she threatened Sansa’s life. I brought Sansa here trying to get Roose to lower his guard. I couldn’t bring a full army North without all of Westeros knowing about it.”

Petyr moved towards Sansa and thankfully she didn’t flinch when he touched her face.

“I couldn’t count on Stannis, Sansa. I never could have known Jon Snow would command a force that could overtake the Boltons. I worked with what I had. The Vale. If Cersei believed I was taking Winterfell in her favor, she would never raise any doubts to stop me or wonder why I was arming the North. I had never intended to leave you here and I swear to you, to my eternal shame, that I did not know Ramsay would do this to you. I never would have allowed him to harm you.”

Sansa gazed at him skeptically but didn’t shy away from him and so he continued.

“I am not military man, but Jon is. Think about it. Robb couldn’t win because he had too much working against him and it’s the awful truth. Lysa did not support your mother when she begged for it. Tywin had far too much control over the south. The Tyrell’s wanted power any way they could get it. Stannis and Renly were too busy fighting each other to support anyone else. King Robert had the support of your father and Jon Arryn. Your brother, Robb, did not have that luxury.”

Petyr looked pointedly at the young commander, his followers and then back to Sansa.

“My strengths are finance and politics. I have bankrupted the crown to where they will never be able to wage a war. Tywin is dead and the remaining Lannisters are destroying themselves. Margery and Loras are imprisoned by the Faith Militant and the rest of the Tyrell’s have no other allies. The Faith has taken over Kings Landing and it will not be long before Tommen is killed or all of the Lannisters are run out. Unlike Robb, you now have the North, the Vale and the Riverlands as your allies. We do not have to fight dragons, I might add. Let me help you. If we combine our forces, we can take over the Iron Throne and build a new Westeros.”

“You just want the Iron Throne for yourself,” Brienne spat.

“No, I am not a leader. No one will ever follow me,” Petyr shook his head. “But they will follow her… “ He glanced at Sansa and then to Jon, “… and you.”

“Me? I wouldn’t know how…” Sansa stammered.

“You should have seen yourself today, Sansa,” Petyr smiled warmly. “The men were in awe of you and your courage. You could be a great queen in your right. A fair and gentle ruler. I can’t think of anyone that would make a better queen.”

“You would make her Queen of the North?” Jon asked cautiously.

“No, I would make her queen of a new and united Westeros. Bring all the kingdoms together for the first time,” Petyr corrected him.

“It’s never been done,” Jon and Brienne touted in unison.

“I have already placed the necessary people throughout the country. The Vale has enough food and supplies to get us through a winter. The Iron Bank will call in the crown’s debts on my command and bankrupt the Lannisters, Tyrells and all of Kings Landing’s nobles. My connections and business with Braavos and Dorne will keep us alive and thriving. The small folk will come to us for aid and we will give it to them. Sansa, you will be the savior of not only the North but the rest of the country,” Petyr pleaded. “That is what I can give to you, if you wish it. Or we can let them rot and make a new country of our own here in the North.”

Sansa walked up to Petyr and leaned into his ear not wanting the rest to hear.

“How can I trust you after all that has happened?” she demanded quietly.

“I’m not asking you to trust me, sweetling. You no longer need me, do you? You have Winterfell and I will never take it from you. You have Jon to protect you and your own army. I have nothing else to give you if you wish to remain here as Lady and Wardeness of the North. Cersei will never send an army this far north and I would never allow it as long as I have power in the Vale. You have everything now and don’t need me. Perhaps you never needed me. I can’t take back the pain and hurt you endured by my decision to bring you here under the guise of marriage, but I can leave you with what is rightfully yours. If it is your command, I will leave tomorrow and return to the Vale. You will always have a true ally and friend in me and I will convince Lord Robert to do the same if I should meet my end.”

Petyr stepped back and looked in Sansa’s eyes. There was anger and suspicion and he could not blame her. Glancing at Jon and the army that stood behind him, Petyr knew she would be protected. Perhaps it was better this way to have her own blood on her side. Right now, Jon believed he was the bastard son of Ned Stark and maybe that was also for the best. If the man knew the identity of his real parents, would it make a difference? The man most likely wouldn’t believe him if Petyr told him the truth right now, nor would Sansa. Just as Petyr joked with Varys about the lies people believed about history, some were most likely not ready to hear the truth. Jon was heir to the throne. Would a bastard believe his true lineage of Stark and Targaryen or even worse, as selfish as Petyr was, take his cousin as his queen? The son of a beloved Targaryen and daughter of a Stark would unite the country just as the love between Lyanna and Rhaegar tore it apart.

“Come, we shall celebrate this victory,” Petyr smiled sadly. “I must be on my way as soon as possible, once my men and horses are rested. I will send you more supplies when I reach the Eyrie. All you need is do is send a raven, and I will give you all that I can.”

Petyr didn’t wait for a reply and mounted his horse, turning back to Winterfell. Sansa stood there in stunned silence. She didn’t know who this man was anymore. He gave a compelling speech telling them everything that was happening. The others were probably questioning his truthfulness, but Sansa knew it in her heart. Petyr, maybe for the first time in his life, had spoken the truth about so many things. He had lied for so long to so many, it would be difficult to discern any honesty from him, but something told her that something had changed in him. There was a sadness in his eyes now… such regret and pain that Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that mind of his.

 

Later that night, the wounded had been attended to and the dead burned. Jon told her it must be done in fear of what was coming from north of the The Wall. Sansa was going to display Ramsay’s body as proof of his death, but in the end it was better to finish it all and move on. Sansa was tired of seeing mutilated bodies and heads on spikes. Instead, shelter and food had been made available to all that sought sanctuary in and around her home.

 _Home_.

It seemed so strange to think of Winterfell as home again. She never felt it when she returned and lived with the Boltons, hating Petyr for abandoning her here. The fires burned bright as ale flowed with merriment throughout castle. Sansa dined as Lady Stark with Jon by her side. Petyr chose to sit far away from them as if he did not want to intrude on their happiness of regaining their family home. He was distancing himself and Sansa felt a pang of hurt in her chest. As much as she hated his methods, Sansa had to admit she would not be here without him. As much as it hurt to remember, her parents did choose to marry her off to the Lannisters not knowing what a brutal, sadistic beast Joffrey was. In his own way, Sansa would have to put Petyr in the same lot as her mother and father. He did not know what Ramsay was, so he said. Petyr did save Sansa multiple times and now gave her lands and rights back to her.

Sansa drank her wine and gazed at him at the end of the table. Only once, at the beginning of the feast, did Petyr smile and raise his cup to her. It was all so complicated. Sansa trusted him, but didn’t. She was angry but still cared for him. He could be lying to her but her heart told her there was truth in there too. Petyr was older, wiser and with a wealth of knowledge and experience. She could use a man like him as an ally. Sweet Robin was in no condition to rule the Vale for some time which left Petyr in power and even then the Lord of the Vale would most likely seek his uncle’s counsel.

If the Lannister’s were self-destructing, as Petyr said, it wouldn’t be long until they were over thrown. The Faith Militant couldn’t be allowed to take over. Her father told her what happened when religious zealots had too much control. It was never good for the people, hence why the new gods were never really pushed hard in the north.

Sansa sighed and finished her wine. Whether she liked it or not, she was too young and inexperienced to lead. She wouldn’t know who to trust or how to govern properly. The Night’s Watch turned on Jon for saving the wildlings, so she couldn’t trust in them for any help. All she hoped is that Jon was right and the wildlings and northerners could live together in peace. But hearing him speak of the White Walkers beyond The Wall was too frightening.

Before the feast, Jon and Petyr spoke at length regarding what was happening north of Winterfell and Sansa wondered if it was such a danger, that perhaps they should move the people south. Petyr had control over the Vale and Riverlands as he stated. They could ride out the winter and band all the people together if necessary. Petyr had money, supplies and allies that would out weight anything that came out of Kings Landing. Dorne certainly would not support any Lannister and the Tyrell’s would be ripe for revenge in regards to Loras and Queen Margery.

It was all so much to consider in one night. All Sansa wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for several days. Just as the thought entered her mind, Petyr rose and bid goodnight to them and left the table. Again, he did not meet her eyes and Sansa didn’t like it at all. He was purposefully avoiding her, something he had never done since their first meeting. Sansa had missed him when he left for Kings Landing. She missed his teachings, their conversations, even their little battle of wits. Petyr never reprimanded her for speaking her mind and treated her as an equal to a man. He taught her to think wisely even when she called him out himself. She needed Petyr then. He was all she had as far as a friend and protector.

Petyr was right in a way. She had Jon now and he could protect better her than Petyr could. Jon had Davos, Stannis Baratheon’s man, who seemed to be very intelligent in the ways of the world. Brienne was loyal, trustworthy and would fight to the end if asked of her. The lady in red, Melissandre, was something of an enigma. A spiritual woman, Jon told her but there was a sadness and regret in her eyes that reminded Sansa of Petyr. What had this woman done? Melissandre kept to herself the entire time and seemed as though, just like Petyr, had no reason for celebrating.

Another hour passed and she was growing tired. Sansa made her decision telling Jon and everyone goodnight and to enjoy the feast. She thanked all the men for their bravery and good will and thus made her way upstairs. Sansa passed the room she had shared with Ramsay and shuddered. She would like to burn everything in that room and lock it forever. She came to her room, the one that used to be her parents and stopped. It wasn’t the idea that Roose and Walda, whom was killed by Ramsay as she tried to hide in the crypts, had used this room but that she didn’t want to sleep just yet.

She had not spoken to Petyr privately since last night and her feet carried her to his room. Sansa stood in front of his door and wondered why she was here. He was leaving for the Vale soon and she wouldn’t have to deal with his double talk again if that’s what she wanted. Did she want him to go?

Sansa raised her hand to knock and paused. What if Petyr was asleep or if he did not wish to see her? Sansa didn’t know why his possible rejection made her chest hurt. Did Petyr really care about her or was it all a game that did not end in his favor? Sansa needed answers and chose not to announce her arrival by opening the door.

“I don’t need anything more, tonight. If you’ll please leave and not disturb me,” Petyr grumbled from the wooden tub that was steaming with hot water. His back was to the door and he didn’t know it was Sansa. Not very wise, Sansa thought. Anyone could have entered and killed him before he knew what was happening.

That struck a chord in her mind. Petyr was not a stupid man and did not make mistakes such as that concerning his own welfare. Did he not care anymore? This was not the same man and it bothered Sansa more than she wanted to accept.

She closed the door and stood watching in silence. Between the fire and the steam, the room was rather warm. Sansa smiled in spite of herself. Petyr had lived in the south for so long he had grown quite accustomed to the warm climate. Something hard to come by this far north.

A wet arm raised and ran fingers through his greying hair as his head leaned back. Petyr lifted his left arm to rest on the edge of the tub and cursed in pain. She forgot that he injured his shoulder during the battle. Had Ramsay stabbed him? Sansa never asked.

She took a few steps and his voice startled her.

“If you’ve come to kill me, then get on with it while the bath water is still warm,” he growled.

Sansa smiled. Petyr would be a sarcastic arse until the very end.

“If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead,” she answered lightly.

“Which sparks my curiosity,” he teased refusing to turn around as she walked towards him. “Would _you_ do it or have someone else dirty their hands with my blood?”

Sansa knelt behind him and smiled, “Why would there have to be blood? I could strangle you or drown you in this bath.”

“Could you? You think you’re stronger than me?” he japed. “Or that I would just let you take my life so easily?”

“Easy? No, it wouldn’t be easy,” she replied sweetly. “However, you having a gimp arm does give me an advantage, don’t you think?”

This time Petyr turned his head to look at her. His eyes were weary and that cursed smile of his echoed their sorrow. He leaned his head back against the tub again and closed those grey eyes. It wasn’t lost on Sansa that he was completely naked and bathing. With his eyes shut, she was tempted to look down but refrained. She knew what a man’s body looked like now, surely Petyr’s wasn’t much different.

“Then what are you waiting for? I’m too tired to fight you,” Petyr breathed.

Sansa dipped her hand into the water cupping the liquid and poured it over his head, wetting his dark hair.

“Why?” she asked, repeating the same action as the water spilled over his face.

“Why what?” he replied.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked running her fingers through his silken hair.

“To be clean. That’s generally what baths are for or am I mistaken?” he japed making Sansa frown. She was not in the mood for his jokes. One more crack and she would drown him right now.

“Why did you come back? Was it for me or yourself?” she inquired.

“Does it matter?” he sighed pushing her hand away.

“Yes,” Sansa insisted and rested her arm on the edge of the wooden tub.

Petyr opened his eyes and studied her for a moment. “Why? Why does it matter to you now?”

“Don’t answer me with questions,” she admonished him.

“You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you? So asking is rather rhetorical. What it is that you want me to say?” his voice lowered and prickled with tension.

“Tell me the truth,” she pressed him.

Petyr chuckled darkly, “The truth, she says. At least your timing is splendid, sweetling… Catching a man at his most vulnerable in his bath and threaten him with death, just to hear the truth.”

“Ugh, why must you be so caustic?” she groaned splashing the hot water in his face but Petyr grabbed her arm pulling her across until she was so close, she could see the green flecks in his eyes and the fine creases that told his age.

“Because the last time I was honest with a woman I cared for, I almost died for it,” he breathed harshly and released Sansa, pushing her away. “Never again, I promised myself,” Petyr huffed avoiding her eyes.

Sansa sat back and the firelight made his pale skin glow. For the first time, she could see a deep and ugly scar that began at his collarbone, travelled down his chest and disappeared into the water. It looked as though he had been practically sliced in two.

“Handsome, isn’t it?” his voice echoed with sarcasm and Sansa lifted her eyes as her face flushed. “We all have our scars, don’t we?” Petyr paused and stared at her for a moment before adding, “I wish I could have saved you from yours. But the question is, would you be the woman you are now if not for those terrible times?”

Petyr picked up the goblet of wine sitting next to the tub and swallowed it.

“For better or for worse, our scars make us who we are,” he muttered more to himself than Sansa.

Sansa had to think of it for a moment. Would she have changed had she been spared it all or would she still be the girl with dreams of knights and flowers coming to take her away?

Petyr seemed to read her very thoughts when he spoke again in remembrance.

“I can still see you that day of the tourney. Fresh and sweet with eyes full of wonder and excitement. You dreamed of love and a handsome prince in a faerie castle. You were so young then….”

His voice drifted as his eyes glazed a bit, studying her now.

“You would never believe how very much like you I used to be,” he breathed. “We both dreamed of love and beauty, believed in those faerie tales that all could be conquered if we only believed in love.” His brows creased into a frown, “Unfortunately, reality was a harsh lesson to learn.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Sansa asked gesturing to his scar.

“This?” he chuckled drunkenly, “This was my reward. A reminder of what happens to naïve, stupid boys that don’t know their place and foolishly believe in love. Have you not heard the tale from your mother?”

“I knew nothing of you, until the day we met,” she replied truthfully.

Petyr reached to fill his goblet with wine, but Sansa was quicker and tossed it aside. He had enough and needed to be sober to answer her questions tonight.

“Ah, it is a story you will never read in those fables for children,” he jested. “For who wants to hear about the boy who was cut down when there are more heroic tales of the boy that beat the giant for his lady love? I read all those stories too, sweetling. I blindly believed that I could fight and defeat a man twice my age and size. All for love… and I was very much in love. Do you remember your first love, Sansa? When I came to foster at Riverrun, a boy with nothing and for the most part treated as a part of the family… an equal, until I overstepped my lowly bounds, that is. Cat was my entire world. My first kiss. I mistakenly believed she loved me too, when her father arranged the marriage with Brandon Stark. I thought love would be my armor. I believed those stories and knew I could win even though I had never picked up a sword in my life.”

Petyr smiled at her sadly and Sansa was beginning to understand.

“You said you loved my mother,” she asked. “You fought for her, didn’t you? Is that why you saved me, because I remind you of her?”

Petyr leaned his head back and closed his eyes again and Sansa thought that he wasn’t going to answer her for a moment.

“When I saw you at the tourney, I could have sworn you were Cat,” he whispered. “You looked so very much alike that I was taken back to those days at Riverrun.” Petyr glanced at Sansa with heavy lidden eyes. “Perhaps, in the beginning, yes.. but you are your own woman, Sansa. Stronger and wiser than your mother had ever been.”

“So you thought you could keep part of her by having me, is that it?” Sansa frowned. “A poor substitute for a woman that never wanted you? I see, now. Can’t have the mother… well, why not the daughter?”

“If that is what you wish to believe, so be it. I’m willing to bet your fancied yourself in love with Joffrey once before you knew what he was. Loras, perhaps?” he smiled thinly. “Yes, I loved your mother. I fought for her and each time Brandon struck me down, I got up again. I was willing to die for her if it meant saving her. What I didn’t realize until later, that she never loved me and I dueled for nothing and Brandon left me with this reminder of who and what I would always be. Nothing and never good enough for a lady of your mother’s station. She was meant to marry well, just as you were. Family, duty, honor…. _rubbish_.”

“Dreams blinded me a fool but reality awakened me to the truth. Lord Tully may have fostered me along with his children, but I was not and never would be equal in their eyes. Had Jon, a lowly bastard, fought for you against… well, if Joffrey had a pair of balls to begin with and possessed physical strength and skill, but I digress. You would have still chosen Joffrey, wouldn’t you? Family, duty, honor and not to mention the bonus of becoming the future queen.”

Sansa stared at him and didn’t know what to say to that. Petyr was right. She would have still chosen Joffrey. She was furious at Arya when her wolf bit him and blamed her for Lady’s death. Sansa was hypocrite if she thought she would have done otherwise had she been in her mother’s shoes. No well-bred or high born lady would choose someone like Petyr.

“Like your mother,” he continued. “I believe you would have stopped Brandon from killing a lovesick boy. Regardless of honor or duty, you are kind and compassionate women.  I don’t know if your mother was right in doing so considering all that I have become, but she did stop him all the same. Instead, I was left with this and bitterness of my own awakening. Make of it what you will.”

Sansa gazed at that massive scar and wondered how he ever survived it. It must have taken forever to heal. Then it hit her, that scar had never healed. It was engrained in his psyche as it was permanent on his body.

“You told me once that… life was not a song and someday I would learn that to my sorrow,” Sansa whispered his words back to him. “You taught me to play this game. That once I know what a man wants, I know who he is and how to move him. I thought I knew what I wanted and none of it was real or true. I would have been miserable with Joffrey. To think I actually admired and wanted to be like Cersei once…” Sansa scoffed. “I wanted to get away from Winterfell and my family. I wanted that dream of flowers, love and my prince, but it was a lie. There were no knights in gleaming armor coming to my rescue. I never would have believed, when I arrived in the capital, that I would long for home more than anything nor be mourning the loss of my family and find myself alone.”

Petyr sighed and rubbed his face. “You are a strong and courageous woman, Sansa. You deserve love and happiness. Perhaps now, that you are back home, you will find it.”

“Did you find what _you_ were looking for?” she asked softly. “Is power the only thing that matters to you? Or was it turning me into my mother?”

“You are not your mother,” Petyr said, his eyes stern.

“But you wanted me to be, didn’t you? You never answered my question,” she added the pressure.

“No,” he answered quietly. “You are so much more. I would like to think she would be proud at how strong you have become. However, she and your father would not approve of you being in my company, of course.”

“Surely, you would be right in that,” Sansa smirked. “As it is, they are not here and I must make my own decisions now.”

“That you must,” Petyr’s sorrowful smile continued to eat away at her. “You have good counsel now. I’m sure you will fair well. If you need any advice, I will be at your disposal.”

“So, just like that… that’s it? You want nothing more?” she wondered aloud.

“What I want is inconsequential, sweetling,” he muttered. “The game has changed. If what Jon says is true, I would not be able to barter and buy my way out of death if that army of the dead heads into the rest of Westeros. The only use I can be to you, is to put you on the Iron Throne and hopefully gather enough people to fight this hoard. If I have to buy every Valyrian sword and piece of dragonglass, I suppose I saved my gold for something.”

Apparently, Petyr and Jon had gone into quite some length in regards to what was going to happen, Sansa sat shocked. It wasn’t everything though. Petyr had fought Ramsay for her. He wanted her to be safe outside the walls of Winterfell during the battle. He killed Ramsay to save her life. There had to be something more. He was leaving because he believed she wanted him to and that was the hardest question. Did Sansa really want Petyr to leave?

“There’s one more thing I want to know,” Sansa stared him down, not letting Petyr break that contact. “On your ship, you told me you wanted everything. What did you mean?”

To her surprise, he chuckled and grabbed a large linen cloth next to his bath. Standing up quickly, he draped it around himself and padded towards the fire.

“Of all the questions you could ask me,” he laughed softly, “and you ask the one you already know the answer to.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” Sansa fumed, standing up and marching over to him.

Petyr turned to her and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her closer to him. Beads of water trickled down and glistened in the light of the fire. That angry scar more prominent as it dug down to just above his navel.

“Then you were calling my bluff in your room at the Eyrie?” he inquired, his eyes wide.

“My room?” Sansa was stumped and then it flashed in her mind. The day of the inquiry with the Lords Declarant when he saved him.

_You think you know me?_

I know what you want.

_Do you?_

Sansa searched his eyes in wonder. Did she know what he wanted? He wanted power and position, to see those that ridiculed him, fall. Petyr did not want to feel pain or weakness again. He had built up walls around him for years to protect him. He didn’t care – wouldn’t allow himself to care for anyone. Letting someone in, would open those wounds… make him weak. _She_ made him weak. She was making him care again.

Back then, Sansa thought it was nothing more than simple lust on his part. Perhaps that was true as well, but he never forced himself on her. In fact, Petyr did nothing more than twice kiss her, and chastely at that. He had whores and brothels, but somehow Sansa knew he wouldn’t touch any of those women. He wanted something more, something pure. He wanted her. To give her power, intelligence and strength. He wanted her to see him as a man that valued her and not something to keep in his bed. He had been teaching her this whole time what it took him a lifetime to learn. Petyr wanted her to be self-reliant and smart. She needed to use her skills the best she could just as he did. Neither of them would ever wield a sword, so they had to use their best weapon, their brain and manipulations. Perhaps, he was training her to be a queen all this time.

And what do you want?

_Everything._

“What is _everything_?” she demanded softly.

Petyr didn’t loosen his hold on her and searched her eyes as if debating whether to tell the truth and let the cards fall where they may. She could see the wall breaking that he had built so many years ago.

He took a deep breath and released it as if a weight of a thousand stones came crumbling down between them.

“You,” he sighed. “ _You_ are everything to me.”


	3. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will never happen but I don't care. It's my fic and I'll do what I want :D
> 
> Enjoy

* * *

 

 

 

“You are everything to me.”

 

Sansa couldn’t move or look away from him. No, he didn’t do this for her. This wasn’t about her.

“You gain everything you need to win your damned game _through_ me, you mean,” she growled deeply. “You needed me to hold the North… not for myself, but for _you_.”

Sansa pushed him away accidentally striking his injury making him hiss in pain as she started pacing the floor.

“What was your next move, Petyr, after you killed Ramsay? Hmm? What, were you going to marry me next?” she berated him but Petyr only stood motionless. “You came to be my knight and savior… and in return, I would marry you and give you Winterfell and the North. You would have control of everything all the way down to Harrenhal, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed and didn’t shy away from looking straight at her.

“You didn’t do this for me,” she seethed. “This has always been about you. Too bad your calculating mind didn’t see past Stannis and Ramsay. You never planned on Jon, did you? Now, that he’s here, your plans are shot to the seven hells and back.”

“If it weren’t for Jon, we’d never know of the threat heading towards us, would we? None of this would matter in the slightest for we all would be dead,” Petyr smirked. “As I said, the game has changed. Political manipulation will not work on the un-dead. No deal or bargain can be made with gold and lands.”

“That’s not the point,” she groaned. “You used me and hoped I would never figure it out. You played on my emotions hoping I might feel something for you if you saved me once again, is that it?”

Petyr leaned against the cool stone as the heat from the fire slowly dried his skin.

“Sansa, would you have ever considered me otherwise?” he asked with an exasperated voice. “I am not young and handsome like Loras. I cannot duel, joust, or sing sonnets to win your favor. All I can give you is what I am and it isn’t much. Instead of flowers that would wilt and die, I gave you knowledge that will last you a lifetime. I am not a man that can wield a sword, but I can teach you how to wield your mind and strengths in better ways. Everyone underestimated you, except me. They never knew how smart and strong you could be. They wanted to keep you a silly girl, ignorant of the world while they took everything you had. You don’t think the Tyrells would have wasted the opportunity to take your rights and lands while they shut you away in High Garden, did you? Did you really believe Margery befriended you by happy accident? There were all playing a game and how to best use you.”

“Just like you?” she added sarcastically and Petyr frowned.

“If I wanted to keep you unaware, since it would have benefitted me the greatest, I would have,” he challenged. “Why gamble with teaching you everything I know? I could have showered you with gowns, jewels… whatever your heart desired. I could have fucked you that first night sailing to the Vale, if that’s all I wanted from you. A jewel’s fire burns cold, and even the finest silk cannot wrap you in love and warmth. I’ve learned that.”

“You wanted Winterfell and I was the key,” Sansa grumbled. “You made me believe it was for my benefit.”

“Wasn’t it?” he smiled. “Staying in Kings Landing would have killed you. You would have died slower still in loneliness at High Garden and Lysa never wanted you at the Eyrie. Bringing you home was the only option. The young girl that left here years ago, would have never been able to do what you did today. Whatever you may think of me, you are a stronger woman now and are beholding to no one. You will never have to marry if you don’t wish to in order to secure your lands or title. You have everything you need.”

Sansa sat down on the bed and exhaled in frustration, “Except trust. Knowing the world as I do now, how will I ever trust anyone again? You can’t unlearn a thing…perhaps ignorance is bliss.”

“We cannot afford ignorance in this world, sweetling,” Petyr muttered. “Ignorance is what gives power to others. Ignorance is what gets you killed.”

“And what am I to live for? If I can never trust or love again in fear of being used… what is the point of existing day to day? I don’t want to end up like you. Alone, afraid and bitter,” she whispered to herself. “What good is a throne? It will never love you back and someone younger and smarter is only waiting in the wings to take it from you.”

“You are wise beyond your years,” he sighed and Sansa glanced at his lean frame by fire. “I wish… we could have met in another world… another time. I think we would have liked each other before the harsh world changed us forever. We’re very similar you and I. Dreamers…” He smiled sadly as he gazed at her. “I would have blissfully spent my life making you smile instead of the pain, hurt and distrust I see in your eyes now… that loss of innocence. We should never hurt the ones we love.”

“You love me so much, that you married me to another man,” Sansa grimaced. “Why didn’t you just marry me instead of Aunt Lysa? You had Harrenhal by then and title.”

Petyr surprised her and chuckled deeply. “Oh sweetling, I tried. Title and lands do not change who you are those that will always consider you low-born and worthless. Funny, when I was mending from that fateful duel, all I could think about is if I were high-born, if I had wealth, lands, title and power. I could have won Cat.”

Sansa sat confused. He tried? What did that mean?

“After Joffrey disposed of your engagement, I asked Cersei for your hand. Even I, Master of Coin, Lord of Harrenhal and Paramount of the Trident wasn’t good enough for a traitor’s daughter in their eyes. They didn’t want you, divested you of title and your birthright and pushed you aside for a new queen… but you were still important and thus wed to Tryion. Once again, I was never good enough. Wealth and title bought me nothing of value.”

“It bought you Lysa,” she quipped jealously.

“And I hated every waking moment of it,” Petyr growled. “The Vale was the next stepping stone in getting you home. If you think I enjoyed kissing or bedding Lysa, you are sorely mistaken.”

“But she loved you, didn’t she?”

“That isn’t love, sweetling,” he sighed in resignation. “That is obsession with a fantasy.”

“How is that different from what you’ve done with my mother and me?”

That hurt him, Sansa felt. The pain on his face was more than evident. After a few moments, Petyr nodded solemnly and stared at the floor.

“Yes, you’re right, my dear,” he acquiesced. “Cat was the catalyst for my bitter journey and my love for you, what I wished could be… is unrequited. To think, a man of my years – only a fool, would blindly hope for the love of a beautiful girl such as you after everything I’ve done.”

Sansa’s heart was breaking as she observed him. Here is what lay underneath his mask. A man that wanted to be loved for who he was and could never be. If all things had been equal, and her mother still refused him, would Petyr be the devious and manipulating, resentful man he was today? He had been told his entire life, he was never good enough no matter how he strived to rise in the world that detested him merely for his birth.

As Alayne, Sansa had only begun to realize what it was to be looked down upon. Sansa had always been born to privilege and never knew what it was like to be born as anything else. Even when her father was executed and deemed a traitor, she was still accepted due to her family and heritage. Petyr, try as he might even to the wealth and title he had now, was still an outsider. The way the Lords Declarant treated him was clear to their distaste of how someone so low could marry the Lady of the Vale.

Sansa understood now why he was tearing it all down. Petyr could have put himself on the throne but never would have any of them respected him. Even with a crown on his head, he would forever be the boy from The Fingers. Petyr didn’t want the Iron Throne. He wanted to burn it all down and start anew.

Now, with Jon’s terrible news from the north, nothing seemed to matter much to Petyr anymore. If they couldn’t stop the white walkers, there were be nothing anyway. This was a fight that he did not know how to manipulate and plan. What use was a man such as him in a war that needed him to be something he was not. Petyr was used to being ten steps ahead of everyone and knowing how to move each piece on the board. Now, he was facing a game he did not know how to play, let alone win and Sansa could see it eating at his core. He was always in control and now that control was gone looking into a realm of uncertainty.

Sansa stood up and walked over to him. He was not young anymore but Petyr certainly wasn’t old. He was still in his prime. Unlike many man his age, he did not show signs of it. He was lean, but not skinny nor saggy or fat. Despite the fine lines on his face, he seemed at most times much younger than he was. Shocking him completely, Sansa slipped her arms around his waist and embraced him tightly.

This feeling was strange, she thought as she held him. It was not the excited flutter she felt with Loras and those childish fancies. Joffrey didn’t love her, Loras would never love her… it was this man, one that she never would have expected, that wanted so much to be loved. Not just by any woman, but her and her alone. Petyr was right, Sansa never would have ever considered him. Petyr was not the knight or handsome prince she dreamed of. He was not a good man in regards to what he had done. He cheated, lied, manipulated and even murdered for his own selfish desires. Whether she liked it or not, Petyr changed her and she could never change back. Sansa could never be that innocent little girl again and frankly; she wasn’t sure she would want to.

Never had a man bared his soul to her. He worked so hard to get to this point and yet, he was giving it all up in hopes that she might find some happiness. Petyr was letting her go. He said he never wanted to be honest with a woman again, and yet this was probably the most honest and pure he had ever been in his life. He had finally let her in, to see him as he really was.

Sansa felt the rise and fall of his bare chest when suddenly his arms tentatively wrapped around her, holding her to him. His hand drifted up until his fingers had tangled them in her hair and she could feel his cheek rest on top of her head. Petyr was not her dream prince… he was just Petyr. A man that saw what no one else could see in her. He believed in her. Praised her for her intelligence and strength, not empty compliments to her beauty and lady-like charms. In the deepest part of her heart, Sansa knew, he loved her. Petyr loved her so much, he was now willing to walk away.

In this moment, Sansa couldn’t love another. When he left her weeks ago, all she could think of was him. Wished and prayed that he would take her away from here. Sansa wanted to hear his voice, those praises, their witty battle of words and wills. He had become so much of the reason why she was the woman she was now. Even with Jon here, Sansa didn’t know what to do without Petyr. She needed his advice and teachings. She needed him, this terrible, treacherous man.

“Look at me,” Petyr murmured and Sansa pulled head away from his chest. His hand cupped the back of her neck holding her inches from his face. She could feel tears threatening to pool in her eyes and knew he sensed it by the way he gazed at her. “Oh sweetling, this is the most precious thing you could ever give me,” he smiled sadly, wiping away a traitorous tear. “But don’t shed tears for a man like me. When I leave…”

Petyr tried to step back, but Sansa wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, bracing her hands on his back.

Petyr frowned, casting his eyes down. “Please don’t ask me to stay, Sansa,” he sighed. “I’ll atone for my mistakes, and I’ll never be able to erase what he did to you, but… don’t make me endure a cruelty worse than death.”

“Cruelty?”

“One day, all this pain is going to fade into a distant memory,” Petyr breathed caressing her face. “One day, you’re going to fall in love with a young man. You will marry, have many children and be blessedly happy. One day, you will forget all of this, and even me…”

A strange and pained look came over his face.

“I beg of you… please don’t make me witness it.”

His thumb wiped away another stray tear, as his eyes traced her face, as if remembering every line, imprinting it on his memory.

“Let this bitter, old man have a sweet memory of one of your kisses instead?” he asked, expecting to be rejected once more. “Just one, Sansa. A real kiss.”

The wine was strong on his breath as his head dipped slowly, asking for permission. Hot tears stung her eyes when his lips closed over hers, feeling the warmth of his mouth. His hand gave a gentle pressure on the back of her head as Petyr deepened his kiss. Sansa was lightheaded and held onto him for support. Her arm wound about his neck as his found its way around her waist. His breath was hers and when the tip of his tongue touched her own, Sansa gasped, pulling away. Her eyes mirrored the surprise and lust in his. Petyr’s grey-green eyes were dark and hazy and his breathing labored as her chest touched his.

Sansa stared at him in wonder and faltering whether she should pull away or not. If he kissed her again, she would be lost. This was the point of no return, Sansa knew it as she gazed at his lips. She wanted him to kiss her, that much was certain, but it would define them forever. If she stepped away now, Petyr would let her and he would never try to kiss her again. However, leaping into the unknown with this man, there was no telling where it would lead. This was trust. Right here and now. There couldn’t be love without trust.

She felt his hold slacken, and Sansa feared he had decided for her in her hesitation. It was in his eyes, that resignation and rejection he dreaded so. Petyr praised her courage today, and yet here she was, a coward. No, this is where she had to prove him right and wrong.

Her fingers grazed his jaw, rough with stubble and leaned up until their lips met again. This time, Petyr gasped which only emboldened her to kiss him deeper. Her only experience, really, was Joffrey and that was nothing compared to this. Ramsay, thankfully, never kissed her, never did anything except cause her pain and fear. She died a little, every time he touched her. Petyr’s touch was the complete opposite.

Each gesture, movement of his hands silently asked a question. His mouth was gentle as he explored and let her grow accustomed to this new intimacy. His moustache tickled slightly, but his lips were soft as he coaxed her to open to him. The moment his tongue touched hers, a moan escaped deep in her throat and Petyr wanted to hear that sound again.

Their tongues danced languidly as their breathing became harsher and labored making Sansa pull away slightly to catch her breath. Petyr’s eyes were black with desire and it caused a low throbbing in her core. Was this what sinful yearning felt like? Sansa wanted nothing more than to have Petyr kiss her forever. When he leaned in again, threading his fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, this time his lips found a different target underneath her ear and jaw.

If Sansa thought kissing his mouth was lovely, the spot he suckled on was almost torture in how good it felt. She could feel herself falling a bit to the sensation when he pressed her body against his in a way that didn’t conceal its meaning. His hand drifted down, cupping her backside which only aided that mild throbbing.

Painfully aware that he was wearing next to nothing, Sansa couldn’t stop her hands from exploring his back. His skin was smooth and lightly damp while those fingers felt muscles move and respond to her touch. Petyr’s mouth traversed the expanse of her neck and found a home just above her collarbone making her arch into him. The sound he made sent chills down her spine and he hand automatically went to the back of his head, holding him there.

This is what desire and lust was. Sansa had never felt it before and now she ached wantonly for it. Before she realized it, his hand cupped her breast, while the other had unclasped the front of her dress accidentally grazing a pert nipple. It was if every nerve responded to him and it scared her a bit.

Petyr raised his head and their eyes met. His were dark and heavy lidden while hers were wide with anticipation and hesitation. His hand slipped inside and felt her small waist covered by the chemise. He was asking permission but Sansa wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not. If she let him continue, she knew where it would lead and that scared her. Images of what Ramsay did and made her do flashed in her mind. It hurt. Every single time, it hurt and the shame and humiliation she felt….

“Don’t think of him,” his voice uttered in reverence and Sansa came back to the present. Petyr wasn’t Ramsay but she couldn’t shake those horrible feelings no matter how gentle he was with her. Petyr knew what she was thinking and couldn’t help but love him a little for that. He knew and understood.

The hand that had cupped her breast was now at her chin.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked tenderly.

Did she? Sansa didn’t know. Just moments earlier, she was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing to her. That ache was dulling but if she wanted it back, what did that mean? Sansa remembered all those silly gossip that young girls were not supposed to hear. What was so wonderful about what happened in the bedroom that they all swooned about? When Ramsay took her, there was nothing pleasurable or wonderful about it. It was pain. Her mother said it would hurt the first time, but if her husband was considerate enough, the act could be very pleasurable for the woman. Sansa thought it was all a lie. It never stopped hurting each time he took her. Sansa felt like she was being ripped in two.

Yet, now as Petyr held her in his arms and kissed her, she felt a pooling of desire between her legs and didn’t know where it came from.

“Why do men enjoy this so much and yet it’s painful for us?” she echoed the thought in her head.

The hand on Sansa’s waist pulled her into him and she could feel his breath on her shoulder.

“Oh sweetling, what did he do to you?” his pained voice murmured against her skin. He didn’t want to hear her say it, but he seemed to already know.

Petyr leaned back and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Many men are only consumed with their own pleasure. They want to believe you are enjoying it too, but do nothing to ensure it. That’s why my brothels were so profitable. Plenty of women pretending they loved it only to give the man pleasure and nothing more.”

“So it’s not pleasurable to women,” Sansa answered the question in her mind.

“On the contrary,” he smiled a little. “It’s very pleasurable with the right lover. A man that knows where to touch,” his hand returned to her breast, circling her nipple making it harden quickly. “Where to taste,” and his mouth slid along her neck. “How to draw every bit of ecstasy as she writhes and moans..”

His hand drifted from her waist, along her hip until fingers grazed almost between her legs making her flinch a little.

“I can show you, sweetling,” he breathed under her jaw. “I can make you moan with such beautiful pleasure.”

Two fingers were gently circling just above her apex and that throbbing returned with full force.

“If you could ever trust me in anything, it’s this,” Petyr whispered, taking her earlobe into his mouth. “Let me teach you… take the pain away. Let me please you, Sansa.”

Her hips rocked forward a bit as if trying to add pressure where he was touching. Taking the signal, those digits dipped lower feeling a wetness through the thin layer of her chemise. Gently at first, his skilled hand circled and then pressed a hard nub, sending a jolt through her body.

“Have you every touched yourself, sweetling?” he breathed in her ear all the while both hands never stopped their ministrations. “Let your little fingers slide between your petals and find this dewy rosebud?”

Sansa clutched his shoulders and heard him grunt, whether it was from pleasure or pain, she didn’t care at the moment. The hand massaging her breast had managed to pull the laces far enough that when his skin touched hers, she almost shuddered from the contact.

His lips trailed down until finding that exposed nipple and let his tongue flick it sending another jolt to her where his fingers played. Sansa panted as Petyr suckled her and his fingers worked between her thighs. She felt him groan into her sensitive breast and a hardness press against her hip. He was more than aroused and it made her pause.

This wasn’t Ramsay, it was Petyr. Petyr wouldn’t hurt her like that, she tried to convince herself. He was already making her soar and he had not even removed her clothes.

Petyr felt her still and stopped all together but didn’t release his firm hold.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as if reading her thoughts. “I’m not him. There’s nothing to be scared of with me. I won’t do anything you don’t like. I’ll stop now if you want me to.”

Sansa exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning into him.

“Promise me, you’ll stop if I ask you to… that you won’t force me, if I change my mind,” she stuttered nervously.

“I promise, sweetling. I would never force you,” Petyr hummed near her cheek.

After a moment, he took her hand and guided Sansa to the bed. Gently, Petyr pushed the dress from her shoulders and let it shift down until pooling on the floor. The cool air drifted through her shift and she could still feel the wetness between her legs and lingering on her breast.

Pulling the laces slowly, he brushed the material off her shoulders and waited for her to stop him. Sansa took a deep breath and felt his hands slide the material down. She shouldn’t be nervous, she had been naked before a man, but this was Petyr. He was seeing her for the first time and her stomach fluttered. His eyes burned a trail across her skin and immediately her arms came up to cover herself.

Surprisingly, Petyr didn’t move her arms away at all and instead closed the distance, letting her feel his bare body against hers. He had not removed the linen from around his waist as if to make her feel more comfortable. Unlike Ramsay, Petyr’s body was a bit leaner with more hair on his chest that traveled down to his navel. The scar cut through it and Sansa could feel the different textures. His hardness had not diminished and it was thick against her thigh. Just a thin piece of linen separated them now and it put her at ease for a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” Petyr breathed before taking her mouth again.

It didn’t take long before her arms that covered her chest protectively had wound around his neck, allowing him to deepen his kiss. Her breasts touched his chest and it was a delicious sensation. She groaned loudly when his hands clutched her bare backside and gently rocked with his own hips. Her pelvic bone pressed against his hardness and that friction of the linen reawakened that lust.

Petyr’s hand caressed around her cheek, his fingers dangerously close to that wetness that was building so quickly. He pulled her thigh up, but the movement caused the linen to fall and all of a sudden she felt him, hard and warm against her hip. He paused again gauging her reaction and Sansa tried to muster a little courage. Her hand drifting down, she brushed him and felt it twitch. Looking at his face, Petyr’s eyes were shut as if trying not to lose control.

Testing the waters, Sansa touched him gently exploring this part of a man. Ramsay was all about control and degradation and she wouldn’t have ever wanted to touch him like this. Petyr let her discover him on her own terms which strangely put her at ease. Such an odd thing; so soft, silken and hard at the same time. How would he feel inside her? Would it still hurt or was Petyr telling the truth, that it was the lover that mattered the most?

Her hand held him firmly feeling the skin move with her. He was thicker in her palm and didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Petyr’s breathing quickened and he held her waist as his head fell to her shoulder. A deep moan erupted and suddenly his hand stopped hers.

“Did I do it wrong?” her voice cracked in anxiety.

He chuckled softly, “No, sweetling. It was so right; I was about to… “

Sansa flushed six shades of red. She almost made him finish in her hand. Strangely enough, she felt a shred of power over him in this moment. Just by her hand, she could make him come undone and somehow it was gratifying that she might actually enjoy giving him pleasure as well.

“This is about you,” he teased and moved her to sit on the bed. “Lie back,” he directed, pushing her further onto the furs.

Petyr didn’t crawl on top of her like she expected, but instead hovered near her chest. Once again his mouth found her breasts and lavished attention on them. His tongue brought her nipples to stiff peaks and that throbbing intensified below her navel. With a look of lasciviousness, Petyr smiled wickedly and kissed down her belly stopping to dip his tongue in the navel. That treacherous tongued drew a line down and around her curls making its way to the inside of her thigh.

Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off him and where that mouth traveled. Never had she heard of a man doing this. Her mother only prepared her for the basics of what would happen between a man and woman, but nothing like this. Her mouth was dry and her chest heaved watching him as he draped her leg over his shoulder.

She was bare before him and tried to close her thighs but he wouldn’t have it. Petyr’s eyes danced around that tender flesh before lowering his head and tasting her.

There was nothing that could prepare Sansa for this sensation and the pure sinfulness of a man’s mouth on her most private of parts. That decadent mouth was hot and wet, feasting on her tender flesh. When he flicked his tongue on that bundle of nerves, Petyr had to hold her hips down that practically flew off the bed. His nose exhaled hotly into her curls as he delved into her folds and Sansa’s eyes almost rolled back. One hand continued holding her hips down when the other teased just below his tongue.

With ease, one finger then two slipped inside and pumped gently with his mouth not tiring in the least. Little by little her inhibitions began to fade as Petyr skillfully worked her to madness. That throbbing now turned to aching and burning to the point where she couldn’t stop her hips thrusting against his mouth. Petyr not only didn’t seem to mind this but looked like he was enjoying it immensely. His eyes never left hers and he began groaning into thrusting sex. The vibrations were too much and Sansa could a coil tightening. It felt so good, that she stopped worrying about the manner of it all. What he was doing was so far out of the realm of decorum, that mere idea of it was making her quake. Suddenly, it happened and she was breaking. Pleasurable wasn’t even the word for this as she threaded her fingers through his hair pulling his face harder against her. The moans were so loud, Sansa wasn’t sure it came from her when finally, she shook and sunk into the bed panting desperately. Where Petyr learned how to do that, she never wanted to know.

Sansa closed her eyes trying to catch her breath when she felt his mouth on hers and he no longer tasted of wine. It was musky and his facial was wet as he lowered his body on top of hers. All at once, she realized she was tasting herself on his lips and it was indeed wicked. Sansa was still coming down from that peak when Petyr nestled between her legs and softly rocked his hips. She was so wet, that Sansa could feel herself coating him and knew what he was asking before he even uttered a word.

Petyr was breathless with need, “Do you want me?”

He had her aching again feeling his cock slide against her folds begging to be let in. Ramsay never tried to coax her first and Sansa realized why it hurt every time. That dew, as Petyr called it, is what was needed. Sansa was not aroused by Ramsay and he certainly didn’t care if she was or not. He seemed to enjoy it the more pain he caused her.

“Do you want me to stop?” his voice cut through her thoughts.

Sansa gazed at him. He _would_ stop if she told him to. Even if it hurt a little, Sansa wanted to know what it felt like with Petyr inside her. If it was one tenth the pleasure she just felt, it would all right.

“No,” she breathed. “I want to feel you.”

Petyr kissed her deeply and raised his hips just enough so his hand could guide himself to her center. Wetting the crown, he pressed slowly letting her open.

“Easy,” he, told her. “Just relax and let me in.”

Sansa felt her opening stretch for Petyr was bigger than Ramsay, but it wasn’t painful. He didn’t force it and just eased himself in and out, letting her adjust. Petyr’s eyes were piercing and gauged her every move and reaction. He was slow and controlled waiting for her to give him the signals he needed to go on.

He kept his torturously slow pace, pushing deeper a little each time. His hands spread open her legs a bit wider, allowing him to finally bury his cock to the hilt. Sansa could feel her walls clenching him and it forced a deep groan from his lungs.

Finding her mouth again, Petyr kissed her and let his tongue match the steady thrusting of his hips. It wasn’t’ long before that spike in pleasure began to throb where there were joined and started mirroring his movements. Sansa never thought it could feel this way. Her body ached for his and responded in kind. This felt right and she grasped his back and narrow waist urging him on.

“Do you trust me?” he grunted, sucking on her neck.

“Yes,” she moaned, letting her hands trail down holding his hips.

“ _Good_ ,” he growled as if he worried she would say no.

Petyr pushed himself up onto his forearms and hooked her knee in the crease of his elbow. Suddenly, he picked up the pace and the friction had her head spinning. Once again, Petyr had complete control as he pumped into her making her arch into him.

This was even better than what he did only minutes ago. The way he thrusted between gentle and then with a hint of roughness was making her want something. What was it? Her body needed something. Faster? Harder? She didn’t know. She felt that coil tighten again but unlike before, there was no release. Instead the pressure kept building and building…

“Oh, gods… more.”

She couldn’t believe her own ears. She needed it badly, and yet she just couldn’t seem to get there. She looked at Petyr in frustration and saw the determination on his face. His pupils were black with lust but she felt like he was holding back… for her. He didn’t want to hurt or scare her. If it felt this good now, would it be better if she let him go?

He thrust much harder, and that was it. That was what she needed.

“Yes, like that,” she mumbled to him, feeling embarrassed that she wanted him to fuck her.

He did it again, their sexes pounding against each other.

“Is this what you want, sweetling?” he growled thrusting into her harder. “Tell me…”

Sansa whimpered. It still wasn’t enough. Something was missing.

“Here,” he panted and she could tell he was close. Petyr took her hand and placed it where they were joined. She was sopping wet and could feel his cock thrusting into her when she understood. She touched that little nub, pushing it against him as he moved.

“Oh…don’t stop..”

She started to shudder madly. This was a million times more intense and felt herself falling into the abyss. It was almost as if she didn’t want it to happen, but the feel of him and how she was breaking was too much. Her hips thrust back meeting him thrust for thrust and hearing his voice crack was all it took.

Sansa’s eye’s rolled back and moaned incoherent things as everything crashed down. She could feel him pulsing inside her as his hips jerked and finally pressed deep a few times before stilling. Petyr’s weight was heavy but comforting. He murmured sweet nothings as she stroked his damp back in complete contentment.

There was a sticky wetness on her chest. When she gently pushed him up, Sansa noticed he tore his wound and Petyr cursed softly. He rolled off her and their fluids ran down her legs. Sansa leaned over and grabbed the linen from the floor and returned to attend his shoulder. Pressing the cloth hard to stop the bleeding, Petyr winced in pain but said nothing.

“You’ll need to put a hot iron to it, unless you want me to use a needle and thread,” Sansa said checking his wound.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered as she tore a strip of the cloth and wound it around his shoulder, but careful not to bind it too tightly.

“Ramsay?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“I was lucky,” he mused and didn’t pretend to be a skilled fighter.

“Better with daggers, I see,” she smirked and slipped under the covers.

“I couldn’t be completely useless,” Petyr teased and let her pull the bedclothes over them. She wasn’t displeased nor leaving his bed, which was a small victory. “Besides, I’d suffer a thousand wounds if you were cure. If it means you’ll stay in my bed, then you can cut and beat me all you like.”

Sansa turned pink but had to ask as she curled into his uninjured side.

“Is that how it’s supposed to be? I mean, that is what it should feel like?” she whispered drawing little circles on his chest.

“ _That_ , sweetling,” he sighed deeply, “is how it should always feel.”

“I’m still angry with you,” she breathed feeling blissfully drowsy. She would sleep well tonight.

“I know.”

“Petyr?”

“Mmhmm?” he muttered sleepily.

“Are you going to leave?” she wondered.

“Do you wish me to go?” he answered, caressing her back lazily.

“I hate it when you do that.”

His hand stopped and Sansa could sense a smile on his face without looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Answer my question with a question,” she grunted.

“Then stop asking stupid questions you know the answer to, sweetling,” he teased going back to stroking her back.

“Will you be this stubborn when I’m queen? I could just have you killed, you know,” she jested lightly.

“You won’t.”

“So sure of yourself, are you?” she retorted with mock seriousness and smacked his chest.

Petyr grunted, and took her hand in his, “You would have done it long before now. Besides, you would miss me too much.”

“You’re certainly proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Of making you come like that? Absolutely. Admit it, sweetling… you would be bored without me,” he sighed, holding her tighter and was silent for a time. “If any of us make it through this winter, there are many things I would like to experience before I’m too old.”

Sansa exhaled long and slow snuggling into him.

“Such as?”

“As many children as you’re willing to give me, considering how often I plan on making love to you every day,” he smiled, kissing their joined hands.

“Hmph. When you’re not hatching plans to take over the world, that is. You’ll never change,” she grumbled. “I suppose you’ll need a small army of children to protect and outwit you someday.”

Petyr chuckled and couldn’t help himself.

“My wits and your beauty… the world will be ours.”


End file.
